Friday, September 30, 2011

Sponsored by Field Trip Friday!

"Four score and 7 years ago"--okay, more like "almost 3 months ago at the height of the Summer Tourist Season"--Team WestEnders attempted to visit Gettysburg National Battlefield and were utterly deterred by a horrendous weekend traffic snafu. So this time, I decided to wage a one-woman stealth campaign by sneaking up on...Pennsylvania...on a nondescript Friday morning in September. And what do you know, it worked! I crossed the Mason-Dixon Line with no difficulty whatsoever; those (slightly-more) Northerners never saw me coming!

The last time I toured Gettysburg was approximately 15 years ago (with then-Boyfriend, now-Husband), on a brightly-sunny, frigid Winter day, with about a foot-and-a-half of snow on the ground. I was greatly looking forward to viewing the park again during the commemoration of the 150th Anniversary of the Civil War. My usual level of burning curiosity was further inflamed by a recent cinematic experience. (Recommended by my good friend M, to whom I remain grateful for accepting and encouraging my inner-geek-girl!) On M's advice, I watched The Conspirator, a recent film about Mary Surratt, the woman convicted and hung by a military tribunal--NOT a "jury of her peers"--for her alleged role in assisting John Wilkes Booth and his cohorts in the planning and/or carrying out of the assassination of President Lincoln. (Absolutely fascinating stuff, treated with enormous sympathy and respect by Director Robert Redford and actors Robin Wright as Suratt and James McAvoy as her lawyer, Frederick Aiken.) Of course, to satisfy my own quest for knowledge, before embarking on my Field Trip I sifted through a wide variety of  online information about Mary (the first woman ever executed in the United States) to try to separate Historical Fact from Hollywood Invention. What I found out was: no one really knows for sure what happened. Mary's son John seems to have been an associate of Booth's, and possibly party to his scheme, of which the original agenda was to kidnap Lincoln and ransom him for Confederate prisoners of war. (This was entirely news to me.) Since meetings between Booth and his cohorts took place at Mary Surratt's boarding house, it does seems likely to me that she knew about Booth's original plot. Whether she actively aided him? That critical fact remains murky, even a century-and-a-half after her trial. What seems clear is that in the absence of her son, who had immediately fled after Lincoln's death to avoid capture and punishment, Mary Surratt was used as a scapegoat to appease the grief-stricken, horrified, and panicked citizens who were looking for answers and vengeance after a devastating 4 years of bloody fighting and the inconceivable murder of their stalwart leader. Not a pretty episode in the American Story, of that there's no doubt.

So, anyway, off I headed toward Gettysburg, my head teeming with all this controversy, ready to storm the battlefield (albeit in a scholarly, peaceful way). After almost a solid month of rain (I swear, if you sit still too long, moss will grow on you in this humidity...and we're well past the point of the precipitation just "sinking in" to the over-saturated marsh...I mean "soil") today offered a dry, crisp 65 degrees, perfect for tromping around...that is: "lightly treading on hallowed ground". I concentrated on the Auto Loop, which threads you through mostly narrow, winding, tree-lined paths dotted with innumerable markers to commemorate the many groups of soldiers who fought there. Special Red Star signposts highlight spots of particular interest, where you can park your car, examine the monuments, and read the plaques about what strategic maneuvers occurred in that location. My overall impression of the park, after so many years had passed since my last visit, was to be overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. So much land, so many lives lost, it's almost incomprehensible to imagine such an event in our nation's history. Before I even arrived at the last stop on the map, the Soldier's Cemetery where Lincoln delivered his iconic Gettysburg Address, I realized the park had infused me with a solemn, hushed mood that persisted long after I pointed my car back to Maryland. I suddenly remembered that I had memorized (no it was not an assignment, I did it voluntarily....and yes, I've been this much of a  dork since...birth) part of Lincoln's speech, and the words still sound as timely and true today as they did in 1865, so I will step aside and conclude with his powerful words : "The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

Monday, September 26, 2011

We're United for Soccer!

Stop me if you've heard this before, but I think I may have mentioned once (or twice, or a million times) what raging soccer fanatics my boys are (yes, all three of them). If they're not at their official practices or games, they might be found kicking a ball around the back yard or running drills or watching FSC (FOX Soccer Channel, for the uninitiated). Of course, while doing so they must also earnestly, thoroughly discuss such colorful topics as: strategic pass placement, effective cross-goal shooting, and stealing the ball without fouling (or at least without getting caught...along with the ever-popular, lively side-topic we'll just call "how to dive to the ground and writhe around in apparent agony to draw a call whether the other guy even touched you or it was actually entirely your fault in the first place.") They spout off names of European players the way--ahem--normal people might discuss their own family members. La Liga (Spain), Bundesliga (Germany), Serie A (Italy), Premier League (England)...so much to analyze...I'll be in the other room reading, if you need me...

But, if they get this much of a kick (ha ha...sorry!) out of sitting on the couch and taking in games on the screen, imagine their delight when a Soccer Mom friend of ours arranged for some of Derek's team to attend a match between D.C. United and Real Salt Lake at RFK Stadium this past weekend. Having never been to a real, live MLS event before, this was pretty exciting in and of itself. But wait, there's more! The kids would have the opportunity to scrimmage--on the actual field--against a similar-age team before the pros took over at gametime. Super cool! So we followed our Fearless Leader (otherwise known as..."Tom") in a caravan of family cars, into the wilds of the District of Columbia. (And anyone who suspects I might be exaggerating for narrative effect has probably never traveled in our nation's capital. Just take my word for it, I'm being perfectly literal.) However, all seemed to be going according to plan...until the Flat Tire Incident suffered by none other than Leader Tom. Fortunately, if you're going to shred a tire in a questionable section of Washington, D.C., it's shows brilliant foresight to do so when surrounded by a veritable Pit Crew of other Dads who can leap from their vehicles and help you install the spare in record time. (Although one of the 11-year olds did innocently observe, "It's like NASCAR...only slower!")

Inevitable D.C. travel-trauma behind us, we arrived at the venue in plenty of time for the U12s to warm up by sprinting madly around their designated section of the turf. I wonder if the 6th-graders imagined the stands full of screaming fans, chanting their names and waving banners while the boys ran, passed, and shot on the field. We parents on the sidelines did our best to simulate a raucous crowd, yelling encouragement while snapping photos to commemorate their early brush with sports glory. Actually, the boys seemed to take the attention in stride, coolly going about their business and focusing on the scrimmage...except Derek's one hoping-for-a-SportsCenter-highlight moment, when he scored a goal...and blew kisses to the camera. What an unabashed ham. Then the buzzer rang on our sweaty mini-players' 12-minutes of fame, and they vacated the field to make way for the paid sports guys. Since we had 2 hours to kill, we then removed our adrenalized horde to the parking lot for some good old fashioned tailgating. The kids continued to run amok, the adults enjoyed snacks and conversation, and a rollicking good time was had by all. As luck would have it, the thrills continued unabated during the match, as the home team scored 4 goals in the first half to take a commanding (and as it turned out, insurmountable) lead. Vamos United! (as they evidently say...see, you can learn things when watching internationally-loved sports!)

I'm telling you, anyone who firmly believes that "soccer is boring" would come away with an entirely different perspective if they joined our gang for an outing! And when we recover from this one, we just might go again...sometime!

Friday, September 23, 2011

Curse of the...Subaru?

In my reckless youth (you know, way back when I was in college and graduate school...oh wait, that doesn't sound so wild and crazy, does it?) I happened to be party to my share of minor fender-benders. Living in the Baltimore/Washington Metropolis, with its jam-packed roads and maniacal drivers, this is not really unexpected. Two of the incidents, unfortunately, were my fault, as I failed to stop in time and rear-ended the car in front of me. The collisions happened at very low speeds, with no injuries, just damage to the cars in question. Why am I dredging this up and reliving it now? Because in the past 7 years, I have experienced two accidents, both of which involved bizarre circumstances, and neither of which in any way could be blamed on me.

The first one occurred in the summer of 2004. The boys and I were in our (previous) Subaru Forester, traveling toward a local mall to shop and have lunch. A pickup truck that was stopped at a red light perpendicular to our path drifted into oncoming traffic and plowed into the front passenger side of our vehicle. Everyone was fine, but I remember having to stand at the side of the road waiting for police and AAA assistance with the boys (ages 4 and not-quite-1 at the time). The driver of the truck reportedly told his insurance company that "a bee flew into the cab" and he took his foot off the brake while trying to shoo it out the window. I thought that sounded weird at the time, but since A) he actually had insurance (yay!) and B) his policy paid for everything, including replacing carseats, I wrote it off as just "one of those things".

The second (hopefully last? Pretty please, O Benevolent Traffic Gods?) odd event transpired yesterday, when I was driving home from work. (In my current Forester....hey, wait a minute, I just realized this may be an alarming trend!) Stopped facing uphill on a 2-lane road at a red light, waiting to turn left, I noticed a disabled vehicle in front of me, with a police car attending to it. When the light turned green, the line of commuters proceeded to skirt the broken-down car by moving into the oncoming lane under the officer's watchful eye. However, the light quickly changed back to red, stranding me in the wrong lane behind a landscaping company's trailer-hauling pickup truck. Obviously, we needed to get back on the correct side of the road and wait for the next traffic-light cycle. That's when things took a sudden turn for the ridiculous. The driver of the pickup truck immediately backed his lawn-mower-carrying metal trailer directly into my front bumper. I was so stunned that I suffered what I came to think of as an "Are you KIDDING Me Delay"--I so very much could not comprehend what the guy was doing, that it took me a second to even blast my horn at him in warning. By then it was too late...as I heard that awful crunch. Then as I slumped in the front seat with my mouth open in astonishment, there was the "What the?" delay while I waited for someone to come investigate. No one got out of the truck. So I inspected the damage myself, then approached the landscaping guys. "Um, you backed right into my car," I calmly-but-incredulously informed them. Their response? "Oh...really?" The most preposterous thing about this whole sad tale (besides their apparent cluelessness and lack of driving ability) is that, if even ONE of them had just stuck his head out the window for a split-second to scope out what was behind them, this would never even have come to pass. Seriously, who doesn't glance to the rear when backing up? Especially when piloting an extra 20-foot steel flatbed? Unbelievable.

Of course the next step was the tedious exchanging of crucial information and the follow-up call to the insurance company to file a report. On the bright side, once again I escaped injury, and my car seems to have sustained only surface-wounds to the front driver's side bumper. But still...I get to deal with the whole "Body Shop" rigamarole. At least I won't be paying for it! And although I generally don't consider myself superstitious, I'm starting to think my next car should NOT be a blue Forester...just in case!

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Brave New World...

This week's anecdotes all seem to be developing around a particular theme, and its name is: Responsibility. Every September Team WestEnders experiences the same phenomenon--let's call it our Annual Fall Frenzy (it sounds so festive that way, like a celebration featuring apple cider and pumpkin muffins...well, that's my fantasy for it, at least)--when the slow-paced, low-key Summer Vacation screeches to a jarring halt, and life kicks into high gear all at once. This can mainly be attributed to the 3-S Syndrome: School/Soccer/Semester, which means that the boys return to their academic gig; sports practices and games begin; and I recommence my Part-Time (paid, yay!) job at a local community college. Suffice it to say, things go from mellow to madhouse, overnight, as we all scramble to pack up our necessary "stuff" and get the heck where we're going (on time is a PLUS, reasonably well-organized is a BONUS, and fashionably outfitted? For that, I want a darn cookie! Or three!)

Riley's life has remained relatively unchanged with the transition to 3rd grade--he still gets Math and Reading homework every night, both of which are completely manageable and fairly low-stress (so far). Derek, of course, now has 7 classes, each with a different teacher, any or all of whom could potentially assign homework on a given night. Goodbye, comfortable, nurturing Elementary School...Hello, rigorous, challenging Middle School! Suddenly he's expected to independently record his assignments in his planner book, gather the required materials, complete the tasks at home in the evening (sometimes this might have to occur at the soccer field--that should be amusing) and bring them back to school for grading the next day. So yes, it's quite a big deal...but I (and others of a similar age, I suspect) used to work through all of this without the fancy planner book, with no one looking over my shoulder to see if I had finished it, and no repercussions if I chose to slack off...that is, until the dreaded Interim Report time, when formerly-clueless parents could abruptly receive the unwelcome knowledge that their little darling was failing a subject. (Note: this never happened to me! Or I might not be sitting here telling this story!)

But now, in the wondrous Computer Age, there's (duh duh duh DAH) EDLINE! What is this newfangled technology, you ask? Well, I'll tell you: only a nosy, micro-managing--I mean caring, concerned, supportive--Parent's Best Friend! You see, parents and students both can log in to Edline to view up-to-the-minute reports on grades, assignments, and tests for each and every class in one spot. In practice, this means that every day, if I wish, I can check Derek's page and examine data such as updated quiz scores, homework that was turned in and recorded, an actual percentage that indicates his overall class grade for each subject, and any missing pieces that he still needs to submit for credit to be awarded. WOW...I love this thing! Why, just yesterday I received an email informing me that there were "new reports to view", so I clicked over to get the scoop. Everything appeared to be in order...except one puzzling grade that showed up in Math: "E". What the heck does that even mean? "Extra-bad-but-not-quite-Failing"? "Expected-tomorrow-or-Else"? Even Derek himself was unable to enlighten me, as he professed to have no earthly idea what that mysterious E was trying to tell us. However, thanks to Edline, he can go to school today and find out. And if it's a worksheet he didn't pick up, or forgot to do, he can remedy the situation and keep it from negatively affecting his average for the quarter. Have I mentioned how cool I think this is?

So there you have it, a new opportunity to practice responsibility...tempered by Mom Accountability. That's the Official Line, anyway, the one I'm planning to feed Derek. The true story? "I've got my eye on you! There is no escape! Mwah hah hah!!!" Ahem. I think I'm going to really enjoy my role as an all-seeing, all-knowing Super Mom...and I promise to use my powers only (okay, mostly) for good!

Sunday, September 18, 2011

School has begun--crack open the bank account!

Today's hot topic springs from the fascinating, complex world of Academic Accounting. And just why is this random subject at the top of the "Things That Concern Me List" this September? Because since the current school year started, it seems that money has just been flowing steadily out of my pocket (so it's all been "virtual cash" in the form of checks and credit card charges--the pain is real, all the same). I found it exceptionally timely that the Washington Post ran a story this weekend in their Kids Post section about how much it costs to raise a child from birth to college nowadays. The staggering total they reported? $225,000. OUCH! (And let's put that under the heading of: "stuff I was better off not knowing, thank you very much!") The article included basic categories you'd expect, such as Housing, Transportation (driving them to soccer practice, I guess?), Health, Clothing (in this case I have to say "hooray for boys who couldn't care less what they wear"), and Food (although what they don't cost us in Designer Outfits, they surely make up for in the volume of calories they consume...which is only going to keep increasing...sigh). None of this comes as a great eye-opening surprise to me, having shelled out plenty of moolah for their care and entertainment over the past 11 years. However, I can't recall ever experiencing quite such an expensive Fall term before.

First there was the usual Supply Run in August, to stock up on pencils, notebooks, folders and such. Neither boy's list of required items was too daunting, though, so I thought we'd been granted some sort of Reprieve for Good Behavior this year. (Ha! How blissfully ignorant I was...) After 3rd and 6th grade actually got underway, Derek and Riley showed up almost daily with new requests for necessary items. (Almost like Blackmail Demands--send us this amount or we'll...make your child clean the classroom during recess! Or have I just been watching too many Action/Suspense movies from Netflix?) First Derek needed a TI-84 calculator for Math. (Yes, a graphing calculator, the very kind I've observed students using where I work...in college classes! This puppy does everything but explain Einstein's Theory of Relativity to you, I swear. In fact, it might do that also, but we haven't figured out the right button yet.) This delightful piece of technology--basically a computer that fits in your backpack--set us back a cool $100. Barely recovered from that case of sticker shock, I next received a communication from the Band Director, detailing the musical equipment Derek should purchase. One trip to the local Music Store later, we had 3 sets of drumsticks, a practice pad, and a carrying bag...for a Grand Total of $80. (Hey, if I subtract that amount from his Food Allowance, will he gain valuable inspiration as a Starving Artist? I mean, why should I be the only one to suffer for his Art?)

That completed the Big-Ticket Items (thank goodness!). But we still had minor requests coming in at an alarming rate. For example: PTA Membership at the Elementary School (mandatory, since I'm a Committee Chairperson, and therefore must set a good example): $20. PTA Membership at the Middle School: $26 (optional, and I'm still deciding whether I want the School Directory badly enough to fork over the bucks). Wrapping Paper sale at Riley's school: 0 (They sell the same stuff every year, and I refuse to  buy any of it). Something called a Direct Appeal at Derek's school: $20 (a one-time donation that you can choose to make, the reward being that if enough people do it, they won't ask you to participate in any Fundraisers...a total bargain, sign me up!) Academic Planner for Derek: $10.50 (not strictly required, but ever-so-useful for keeping track of 7 classes worth of homework. So really, a no-brainer. Where's my checkbook again?) PE Uniform for Middle School: $24 (again, completely up-to-you, but an easy way to identify--and therefore bring home for absolutely critical cleaning/deodorizing--yucky gym clothing.) Fee for Riley's first Field Trip of the year: $11 (which also comes cheaply, especially since I know I'll be bankrolling Derek's 3-day Outdoor Ed trip in November...for $80). And finally (at long last), reloading the Lunch Money accounts to buy a meal at school once-a-week for the first Marking Period: $25 each.

Whew! Who knew this whole Parent Thing would get more expensive over time? You'd think after the crazy spending days of diapers and strollers and cribs and little-kid toys, it would level off. (They should really mention that in the Baby Instruction Manual they hand you in the hospital...oh wait, they don't have one of those, do they?) Meanwhile, when asked if he wanted to attend the 6th-Grade Dance this coming Tuesday afternoon, Derek said, "I don't know, it's $3, that seems like a ripoff...when I could dance for free!" Oh, my frugal little man, you have NO IDEA! I'll happily fork over the Kiddie Cover Charge, and even slip you a little extra for snacks; yep, that's your Mom, the no-holds-barred Big Spender! But wait, the Activity Bus that brings you home afterwards is free, right? 'Cuz that's all the cash I have on me right now!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

September Saga (so far)

Well, it's only Wednesday, but already it's been a long week of...let's call them "challenges" (just to be positive and proactive and...stuff). Our first issue involved Riley, who after cruising along at the beginning of 3rd grade, suddenly started kicking off every weekday by curling up in a ball, sobbing pitifully about how he "didn't want to go to school" and "was going to miss Mommy so much while he was gone." I'll admit, the first time this happened I gaped at him like he's sprouted antennae or broken out in purple polka-dots. This kid has been contentedly, independently marching off to school since he was 3 (which is incidentally the last time he collapsed in tears about it--I have the preschool photos to back me up). I was both taken aback by his behavior and stymied as to what could possibly be going on to cause these daily histrionics. Okay, he has a new teacher for the first time in 2 years; and his entire routine has changed, with Derek leaving before he gets up in the morning; and his classwork is supposed to be more advanced...oh, I guess he has some pretty solid reasons for feeling a bit out-of-sorts this September, after all. I've never dealt with a kid who gave me grief about going to school, so I was at a bit of a loss as to how to manage the situation. Faced with a clingy, weepy 8-year old in the mornings (NOT my best think-fast and create-a-solution time of day) I resorted to a few classic Parental Tools: the confidence-building Pep Talk and the comforting Token of Affection. For Riley, this meant that I presented him with a sincere, rah-rah "You Can Do It" speech, and a small object he could put in his pocket to remind him of me during his strenuous academic day. (Of all the possible mementos he could have selected, he chose a Subaru keychain--which still totally cracks me up. But hey, whatever works, right?)

Not to be left out of the emotional minefield, Derek had his own minor meltdown...over homework. It seems that he was supposed to find the "Interquartile Range" for a set of data, and he couldn't figure out how to do it. My super-helpful Mom response ran something along the lines of, "I'm sorry, you need to calculate the WHAT?" (In my head I added "What the heck's a "quartile" and who cares what its "range: is? Let it be Free Range! Set the quartiles loose! There, are we done?) "Well," he matter-of-factly clarified, "I already know how to set the Upper and Lower Quartiles, but I'm confused about how to find the IQR." Um, that makes two of us, pal! So I (gave an inward sigh) buried my nose in his textbook, found the step-by-step instructions, and worked through it. (I refrained--with some difficulty--from mentioning to Derek how much I had despised my own Statistics class in college...in fact, I vividly recall heaving my book across the room in frustration on more than one occasion while struggling to complete my assignment. Good times. And now we get to relive that experience...in 6th grade...awesome.) Anyway, my explanation didn't jive with what Derek remembered from the lecture in class, so he left it blank and resolved to ask his teacher the next day. (For the record, it turns out that I had understood it correctly--yes! A stunning victory over Measures of Central Tendency!) Just when I was ready to pat myself on the back for escaping the Math Trap with minimal damage (and/or Mom Embarrassment), there turned out to be more excitement. We also had to use a formula to determine if there were any Outliers in the set of numbers (Math--it's a whole other language, isn't it?). The fun just never ends around here, I swear!

As if that weren't enough, on top of our academic angst we were treated to a raging ant infestation, due to the torrential rains we've received over the past several weeks. Hmm...maybe if I give the uninvited visitors some small souvenirs to remember me by (cookie crumbs?), they'll leave quietly...and carry Derek's homework away with them! (Although I wouldn't look forward to that phone call from the Middle School Principal--"But it's true, the ants DID steal his paper!") Is it unreasonable to hope for a definitive decrease in drama for the rest of the week?

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Update: Girls are still ICKY!

Being the lone Female in a house otherwise occupied by a small-but-rowdy Boys Club has had many implications over the years. For example, it never fails to astonish me how much of my behavior--which to me seems quite reasonable and transparent--gets treated with a puzzled look, followed immediately by a knowing nod and the catchphrase that has become standard on such occasions: "It must be a Girl Thing." (Apparently, women are much more mysterious than I could have imagined. I have found that this often works in my favor, though, such as when I express an intense craving for chocolate, or buy a new purse, or demand a few minutes of peace and quiet. All of these are accepted under the umbrella of "Girl Things".)

However, Derek and I recently had a discussion that proved just how deeply cloaked-in-secrecy the Fairer Sex really is to an adolescent boy. It started when I went into his room to check whether he needed a replacement for his deodorant, since I was planning to go to Target the next day. "Can I get a different kind when I run out of this one?" he requested. (I had gotten him Unscented for his first Test Run in the complex world of body-odor-reduction products.) "Sure, honey, you can choose anything Tom's offers." "Why does it have to be Tom's?" he wondered. "Because it's natural and doesn't contain potentially-harmful chemicals to smear on your skin," I responded. With an impish grin, he tried, "How about Axe?" Um, how shall I put this? Absolutely. NOT. "Why?" he persisted. "Do you want to attract chicks?" I shot back, "Because that's what it's for!" He looked appalled and quickly said, "No way, forget about it!" (Yeah, that's what I thought...) But of course he wasn't done yet: "I could use Old Spice, to be 'fresh, fresher, freshest'!" Okay, that's it, no more commercials for you! (They've been watching a truly prodigious amount of Fox Soccer Channel lately, and evidently, people who do that are...stinky...and in the market for deodorant!) So he made one more attempt-- "What about Speed Stick; that's what Dad buys." "Sorry, buddy, it has chemicals too", I regretfully informed him. "But wait," he asked with a confused expression, "why is it okay for Dad?" "Well, Dad and I are older, and not so worried about the ingredients we put in our armpits anymore," I (somewhat sheepishly) confessed.

At this point I thought our heartwarming little Mother/Son talk was over, and I was about to leave his room when he suddenly burst out with, "Wait, YOU use deodorant?" in a tone of utter incredulity. Well...yes...you'e seen me sweaty after working out...and just why do you ask? "But...I thought girls didn't smell!" he sputtered. (Which, now that I think about it, means my own personal antiperspirant/deodorant choice must be effective...Good news!) I barely had time to break into hysterical laughter at his outraged tone and indignant expression before he finished with a vehement, "EWWW! I'm never dating!"

So I have to chalk this one up as a big Win on the Parental Scoreboard (because I have one of those, you know...at least in my head). Not only does Mom smell like roses, but Other Girls just got even grosser. High fives all around for Team WestEnders!

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The kids are alright...

With just over a week of the new school year under our belts (hooray, only 35 more to go!) I would say routines have fallen back into place pretty well, and day-to-day schedules have run fairly smoothly so far. (Oh no, didn’t I learn my lesson? Unjinx, counter-jinx, anti-jinx!) Of course, maybe that’s because I purposely set my expectations artificially low in the early days of September—so to measure success, we celebrate that no one has missed the bus (yet…I mean, yay, us!); we commend our young scholars for getting their homework done (hearty round of applause); and we cheer when both boys manage to get out of the house with their lunch, important papers to return to the teacher, Assignment Book, and whatever other paraphernalia they require for their daily foray into the academic world.

I realize that this particular year is probably going to be one of extra growth for my sons. (And I’m not just talking about Derek’s height…or how much he eats…or even his shoe size, for that matter.) Riley is beginning 3rd grade, which is commonly considered the first “serious” year in school. You now belong to the Upper Grades, no longer lumped with the “little guys” in K/1/2. (Oh, what a difference a Summer makes, right?) Homework increases in length, amount, and complexity. When Report Card time arrives, you no longer receive those sympathetic O-for-Outstanding or S-for-Satisfactory. Nope, it’s Formal Grading time, with the standard A/B/C format applied to your work. And let’s not forget that important Rite of Passage you’ll be required to master: Cursive Handwriting! For Derek, of course, heading into 6th grade means a dramatic jump in responsibility. Not only does he need to get himself up and ready to roll an hour and 20 minutes earlier than he has for the past 6 years, he also must corral his supplies (including his fancy-schmancy (code for: expensive) graphing calculator and his Band equipment), manage 7 classes worth of assignments, and budget his time to fit school and soccer (and eating and sleeping) into his life. So yeah, I suspect there will be some steep uphills, maybe some slipping and sliding along the way, but together we’re going to tackle the slow and steady climb up Mount Maturity between now and June.

With all of that in mind, I’ve been noticing and appreciating more than ever the moments when I catch glimpses of the boys acting like…well, like kids. The monsoon-like weather conditions we’ve been dealing with this week have prevented any outdoor playing. Instead, Derek and Riley have collaborated to construct enormous, elaborate pillow and blanket Forts. When the structure meets with their satisfaction, they proceed to stage complex battles pitting Superhero Action Figures against Army Guys (which we even had to purchase, in order to enable the War of the Living Room to occur. I overheard them planning a future incident in which Dragons apparently will storm the castle. I guess we’ll be perusing the toy store for a set of Magical Creatures next…) During breaks in the Toy Combat, they have been observed acting out favorite scenes from Star Wars and engaging in spirited lightsaber fights. But my favorite example of “I’m not quite grown up yet” comes at in the evening, when Riley will still ask to have a story read to him, and Derek will nonchalantly stroll in and snuggle up next to us to listen as well. Then they each expect both Husband and me to personally say goodnight, give them a kiss (me) or a manly-yet-affectionate head-rub (Husband), and pull their covers up around them. It warms my heart to share the Bedtime Ritual every night--and I don’t care how tall or sophisticated either one of them gets, I won’t mind if they let me tuck them in until they go away to college!

Monday, September 5, 2011

Labor Day...was a lot of work!

When the boys are playing video games, and there's rampant trash-talking going on amidst the colorful play-by-play commentary, inevitably one of them will heatedly yell, at a critical turning-point in the action, "Don't! Jinx! Me!" Now of course I have scolded them for this--"There's no such thing, it's all silly superstition, your brother did NOT cause your Mii to miss the imaginary shot on goal just by voicing the possibility!" However, after all my protests to the contrary...I might have jinxed myself this weekend. You see, I was sitting around last night, listlessly contemplating whether I should write something, knowing it had been several days since I last posted. But no matter how much I mulled it over, nothing came to mind. "Wow, it's been a pretty dull week!" I marveled. "There's no story to tell!" Uhhh-huhhhh. JINX! (Dang it!)

Yesterday morning Riley woke up with a phlegmy, painfully-strong, almost-constant cough. It sounded like allergies gone wild, so we treated it as usual, with plenty of fluids, rest, and his favorite homeopathic remedy: spoonfuls of honey every few hours. But today, he emerged from his bedroom after a full night of sleep sounding like a rhinoceros had parked on his chest, preventing him from inhaling deeply enough, and causing a disturbing wheezy sound as well. Since the whole "difficulty breathing" was a new one for us (and, well, darn scary) I immediately made an appointment with the pediatrician. First she checked his pulse oxygen level (very reminiscent of the many hours I used to spend watching ER!) with a nifty finger device. "How does that work?" I wondered out loud. "Um, it involves physics...diffusion of light..." she began in a serious instructional tone. Then she chuckled and admitted, "That's all I can tell you!" Good enough for me! Then she administered a nebulizer treatment to see if it would open his airway and ease his labored breathing. (Yet another exciting new experience, by the way.) Finally she recommended that we get a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia, so we could proceed with the best course of treatment based on all of the available information.

Normally, we would head down to the murky basement of the same medical building, where the Radiology Department lies. This being Labor Day, however, they were closed. So we got to walk next door...to the Emergency Room! Whoo hoo! (Or maybe I should say "Oh, rats!" instead, as this marks the end of an 11 year-span in which we never visited an ER once for our two rowdy sons! Let this not be the start of a new trend...please please please!) I briefed the on-call doctor about the relevant data up to that point, while he listened to Riley's chest. Dr. B. then ordered the x-ray, another nebulizer treatment, and a dose of oral steroids to hopefully begin easing the inflammation. (Husband later remarked, "I hope the U10 Soccer League doesn't do random drug testing!" Um, yeah, I think we're okay...) I imagine Riley felt like a VIPP (Very Important Pediatric Patient) when Al arrived from Radiology to push his entire bed to the x-ray area (although at a safe and sedate pace, rather than careening down the halls like they do in the movies). After receiving the auspicious news that his lungs were clear, Riley met the Respiratory Therapist who helped him with the nebulizer...then all of the hubbub ground to a halt and we entered the Waiting Phase of our day. Honestly the only time there was any breakdown at all on Riley's part was when he learned that he had to stick around the hospital for a few hours so the doctor could observe the effect of the meds.

Since we'd left the house at 10 a.m. for what we expected to be a routine doctor's office visit, and maybe a quick stop at the pharmacy on the way home to fill a prescription, it seemed high time (1 p.m., to be exact!) to fill Husband in on the action thus far. "Here's what's going on, and oh, please bring us Riley's DS, book, electronic Rubik's cube, and favorite stuffed animal." (And a sweater for me, it's downright ARCTIC in this joint! Where does it say that deep freezing the patients speeds their recovery? Sheesh!) When the Activity Squad (aka Dad and Derek) galloped in, Riley had eaten a little bit, utilized the remote control to turn on Cartoon Network...oh, and was noticeably breathing with less effort already. Dr. B. proclaimed himself satisfied with the recent results, and concluded that the most likely culprit is a virus of some kind that caused the swelling and subsequent wheezing. Official Diagnosis? Oh, let's call it "Bronchitis" for the paperwork. After some more resting, video gaming, juice drinking, and TV watching, Riley was sprung. And we even got to leave with some lovely parting gifts! A short-term course of prescription steroids, and the Grand Prize: our very own (wait for it...) Home Nebulizer! Yippee! (Seriously, they just hand those puppies to you on the way out the door. Um, thanks?) We get to "mist" Riley with it every 4 to 6 hours over the next day, including holding it under his nose in the middle of the night while he (maybe) sleeps through the treatment. (Yeah, that oughta be good...)

So to sum up: a great deal more drama than we anticipated during our 3-day weekend, especially when the original agenda for the day included nothing more taxing than attending a friend's picnic! But as they say, "all's well that ends well" (pretty sure that's Shakespeare) and also "tomorrow's another day." (Um...maybe Scarlett O'Hara?) For right now our fingers are crossed that Riley pops up out of bed bright-eyed, breathing well, and back to normal in the morning. And no jinxing it this time!