Memo to Me...

It's pretty obvious to anyone who's known me for more than about, oh, 5 minutes or so, that I'm a person who thrives on order and organization to help me manage my life. I set up detailed plans, I arrange tightly-run schedules, I write extensive notes and keep lengthy to-do lists. And we all know (since I've run on and on about my obsession with "techie toys") how much I enjoy using my electronic devices...for various purposes (Hey, flinging fierce birds at obnoxious pigs is a fantastic substitute for, say, yelling at inconsiderate drivers, right? Although not while driving...but you know what I mean...) However, it recently came to my attention while chatting with other moms at Riley's soccer practice, how much a citizen of Low-Tech-Land I still actually am when it comes to running my day-to-day agenda. One mother was lamenting about how when she downloaded the latest iPhone Operating System, it somehow dredged up deleted appointments from months ago and added them back into her online calendar, causing her great consternation as she struggled to disentangle the mixed-up entries. (Buy Halloween candy? You bet. Prep for Easter dinner? Not so much...) She declared that until she got the computer mess sorted out, she would revert to carrying around...a Planner Book--and at this point she held it up sheepishly, as though expecting the rest of us to ridicule her backwards attitude or mock her hopeless inability to master modern conveniences. (We did neither of these things, of course, but rather nodded knowingly and made sympathetic noises. Supportive Soccer Socializers, we are!)

Then she turned to me and asked, "How do you keep track of things?" Well you see, I utilize the very latest method...I mean, for me, only the most up-to-date type of system will do...oh, forget it. The truth is: I don't bother to maintain (or carry with me) an electronic record of mine or my family's schedule. Furthermore (since I've already started making embarrassing admissions, what the heck) at home I jot actual pen-and-paper memos to myself (crossing items off when completed, extremely satisfying). And lastly (go for the big finish, they're not gaping at you like you're an irredeemable idiot...yet) I have our Master Calendar on the wall by the refrigerator (yes, a paper one...hung on a nail, very Old School) on which I record everyone's color-coded activities and appointments (Riley= purple, Derek=green, Mom=red, Dad=blue, Family=orange, in case anyone's wondering...just how big of a Dork I am...now you know...) NOW all of the other Moms behaved the way you might treat a crazy person who's spouting nonsense: they nodded and smiled in a politely neutral way (while carefully avoiding eye contact, as though that might spark me to do something wild and unpredictable...like maybe ask to borrow a pen or something.)

And I realize that my strategy--while adorably "retro" and admirably impervious to computer-glitches-- has its drawbacks. Like when I'm leaving the Orthodontist's office, and can't set up Derek's next appointment until I get home and flip the page to check next month's availability. Or the days I find myself with an unexpected chunk of free time, enough to accomplish an errand or two, and my shopping list sits on the kitchen counter instead of on my phone. Speaking of which, it just occurred to me a few weeks ago...as I searched my work-tote for a scrap of paper to scribble a reminder to myself...that THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT! DUUUUHHHH! (How long did that take for me to figure out? Mortifying!) So I downloaded a Virtual Notebook and have tried to foster the habit of typing temporary memory-joggers (just until I get home...to the ink-and-paper copy, of course). But I realized I may have truly embraced the online notetaking experience when I pulled my phone out...on a Soccer Saturday...to "write down" goals and assists during Derek's team's high-scoring game. Yeah, that's right, I'm a Soccer Mom in the 21st Century! (And yes, I do want a cookie...and also a "Great Job" written in red, on the wall calendar!)

Reach out and touch someone...Methodist style!

So here it is, Sunday, which in my house signifies certain things that you can not only expect, but count on to happen. Especially during the Spring and Fall Soccer seasons, Sunday is the one and only day of the week that we can sit around in our pajamas (or sweats, for Husband), drinking coffee (or chocolate milk, for the short...er...people), eating a leisurely breakfast (or...drinking another cup of coffee, for me) and thoroughly perusing the large Washington Post newspaper. (Yes, the actual, paper edition that you hold in your hands and turn the pages, smearing yourself with ink while reading. We're just old school like that...once out of every 7 says, that is.) Derek, Riley and I also make time to attend worship services--and while we won't win any awards for Perfect Attendance, I'd put us in the category of Regular Church-Goers. So in the interest of setting an example of personal honesty and integrity, I have a confession to make. (Even though, as Protestants, we don't technically do that, I'm going to put it out there anyway. Hmm, I wonder if God will check out my Blog? Now that would be cool, right?) 

Anyway, a few weeks ago, while glancing through the Bulletin during "a quiet prayer moment", I noticed that our congregation's annual Outreach Sunday  was approaching. On this day, instead of holding the usual services, people gather for a sendoff-blessing, then go out into the community-at-large to spread fellowship and perform helpful tasks. Here comes the admission of guilt: not only had I never participated in this activity yet, I made a mental note of when it was set to occur...and decided we'd be "busy" that day so we would have to miss it. Please don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm against communing with my fellow man or taking God's work out into the world. If someone asks me about my religion, I'm genuinely happy to share my beliefs. If there's a project that will beautify or improve my neighborhood, sign me up! But I'm just not the "stand on a box, wave a sign, and shout about Jesus" kind of girl. So basically, this whole concept scared me to death. And since I had it in my head that it already happened LAST week, the boys and I arrived at church completely unprepared. (Do you think I gave it away, when we approached our turn and spotted swarms of people in their special orange t-shirts and I blurted out, Uh...oh...?)

Now, had I planned to take part, I could have gone online and joined a group, chosen an assignment, and been all set when we showed up. But since I failed to do that, we just shuffled up to the Welcome Table, somewhat sheepishly announced that we were “here to help” and waited humbly for our “job”. The cheerful greeter-lady seemed stumped for a beat, but then brightly declared that she had “just the thing” for us: hand out carnations at a nearby shopping center and wish people a “blessed day”. Oh…no! This is soooo, WAAAAYYY out of my comfort zone! Can’t I just pick up garbage along the road? Or spread mulch at a local playground? (The couple who arrived just ahead of us got to do that…dang it, we missed it by seconds!) But I put on a brave face for my sons and gamely agreed…so we collected our vivid orange volunteer-identifying t-shirts, lugged our bucket of flowers to the nearest strip mall, and positioned ourselves on the sidewalk between a small café and a grocery store to accost—I mean “pleasantly engage with” the citizens.

And our morning of passing benevolence to our brothers and sisters started out well—the very first man we offered a flower graciously accepted it and wished us a blessed day right back. Yessss! However…most of the next 47 potential takers declined with either a polite “no, thank you” or a suspicious look and sharp shake of the head. (Derek kept count in his head, including the percentage of success, until the turndowns racked up and it got “depressing”.) As we stood there shivering (oh yeah, since this took me by surprise, I also failed to dress appropriately for standing outside on a brisk Fall morning. oops.) I had plenty of time to consider why people would refuse a pretty carnation given to them by cute children (if I do say so myself). Suddenly it hit me: they probably expected that, if they took the flower from me, I would then ask them for money! I mean, folks don’t just give stuff away in this day and age, right? So I told the boys that from that point on, we would say, “Would you like a FREE flower?” and see how that worked.

Overall, I’d say we had moderate success. (Although I was kind of startled by how bummed I felt when people rejected me! Even the boys admitted that the best part was “when people took the flower” from us.) Some shoppers even paused to ask where we were from, and why we were doing this. Many seemed shocked that the flowers were free-of-charge, and several even looked around for a “box to make a donation”, which I thought was a nice gesture. Those who did stop for a chat said that they enjoyed what we were doing. And I guess that’s really what it was all about. Whatever you want to call it—sharing God’s love, sending positive vibes out into the Universe, pestering your fellow human beings with kindness—I like to believe we accomplished our Outreach Sunday goal. And now that I’ve overcome some of my trepidation about joining in the annual event, we’ll be back for more next year. But you can be sure I’ll register early, and try to pull some kind of Manual Labor duty!

Is this where the Great Pumpkin lives?

D: age 3, R: age...2 months?

When the boys were preschoolers, Fall trips to a pumpkin patch were as much a part of the season for us as changing the clocks back to Eastern Standard Time. Each excursion involved what I came to think of as our own little Harvest Rituals. First we would bundle up in layers to ward off the chilly October air. (Ah, the good old days, back when my sons would agreeably consent to wear exactly what I told them was sensible attire for the windy, 50-degree weather...you know: jackets...and long pants! Imagine!) Then we would don appropriate footwear for tromping over bumpy, viney, potentially-muddy ground. Once we arrived at the actual farm, there would be livestock to examine (and sometimes pet--I know--ewww--but the kids love it...and hand sanitizer is a wonderful thing), and bales of straw to leap over and fresh apple cider to taste. Finally we would take a tractor-pulled hayride to the gourd-covered fields, where we would invest a great deal of time and energy inspecting the specimens, comparing the relative merits of each one, and selecting the perfect pumpkins to become our Halloween Jack-o-Lanterns. Good times.

With an 11 and 8-year old, I feared our era of farm-visiting had passed forever. And this year, since it rained...pretty much through the month of September...we made a Group Decision to "cheat" and choose our porch decorations from the already-gathered supply at a nursery in town called (naturally) The Good Earth, where we wouldn't be forced to splash through boggy fields and lug slippery, ooze-covered pumpkins back to our car. Everyone was completely okay with the plan, and that seemed to be that. Except: Riley suddenly got a hankering to try out a Corn Maze. (Precisely where he picked up this notion, I have no idea, but once that boy gets hold of an idea, he does not let it go easily...) So when my friend called to ask if we wanted to accompany her family to--you guessed it--pick pumpkins on the kids' day off from school, I told her we would indeed love to tag along.

I have to say, this time our preparation required far less work on my part, as Derek and Riley obviously dress themselves these days. (Although Derek complained about being cold quite a bit...to which I responded without even the tiniest atom of sympathy, "Here's a thought: WEAR JEANS!") We opted for Sharp's Farm, an active agricultural setting complete with animals, orchards, crops, and at this time of year, all kinds of Fall activities as well. Funny enough, the boys still enjoyed getting up-close-and-personal with the goats, cows, and chickens. (Never too old to bond with cute fuzzy farm creatures, I guess.) There was the requisite hayride and the mucking about among the brightly-colored array of pumpkins in the fields. (Although since we weren't actually toting any ourselves, we took a short nature stroll back to the barn rather than wait for the wagon.) At the store, we browsed the apples (several varieties) and vegetables (extremely colorful) and honey (produced in hives on the property!) and fresh herbs. (Incidentally, I taught Derek’s nose to identify “dill” and “cilantro” by giving them the sniff test…’cuz I’m sure all 6^th grade boys need that knowledge…to impress the chicks? Or some such nonsense...)

But the highlight of the day was (dah dah dah DAH) the “Friends and Foes of the Farmer” Corn Maze! You couldn’t tell from the ground, of course, but the Tour Guide assured us that the 10+ acre field was carved in the shapes of a bat…and a stinkbug (I’ll let you guess which is helpful and which is the enemy.) Rather than trying to scare you, this particular labyrinth was set up as an educational-and-fun puzzle. You encountered questions hanging on cornstalks, every few yards along the path. Continuing to follow the correct direction would depend on determining the right answer. No great surprise, the posse of 5 boys (ages 8-14) sprinted willy-nilly off into the corn, utterly ignoring the informational signs and racing to the finish. We girls (3 moms, 1 daughter) took our time, stopping dutifully at each card, reading carefully and absorbing the interesting facts. (Apparently, bats can live 30-40 years, and tend to have only one offspring at a time. See, great stuff! And did you know stinkbugs have bright red eyes? Me neither! And I never would have accosted one to find out!) When the boys taunted us that they had “won”, we very maturely responded something along the lines of “nyah nyah, we got MUCH smarter than you, so there!”


At the end of the day, a successful pumpkin-patch time was had by all. I think Derek summed it up best when he announced, in his pre-teen, low-key sort of way, “Well, that was fun!” By next year, they may be clamoring for Haunted Trails and Ghost vs. Zombie Tours, so for now, I’m happy we had one more wholesome farm experience to remember!

Hey, I didn't get "Chopped"!

I really didn't waaaannnt to cook tonight (yes, Mom gets tired and whiny on occasion, so sue me). Well, if I'm being perfectly honest, I never really feel like preparing meals, but somehow I always feel like eating, so you can see the dilemma. (Which is why in Johna's Happy Place--a magical land where I've suddenly become ridiculously wealthy for no apparent reason--my Personal Chef...hmm, let's call him Jean-Pierre...doesn't he just sound scrumptious already? Where was I? Oh, yes, Jean-Pierre absolutely lives to create delectable, nutritionally-perfect dishes that my family raves about, every evening of the week. And since this is my delightful daydream, he cleans up afterwards as well. Aahhhh.)

But in my actual life, I had to whip up something for the starving masses, all by myself, as usual. Resisting the strong compulsion to summon our dear friend...Papa John (Must...Not...Dial), I scoured the pantry for a likely set of available staples to concoct a reasonably-tasty, nutritionally-acceptable, family-pleasing repast. (Hey, my standards here in the Real World have to be much lower than those of my fantasy chef. Tragically.) A box of linguine, a bag of frozen spinach, toasted pine nuts, olive oil, garlic, salt, and pepper, a sprinkle of parmesan, and voila! (Jean-Pierre would say that, wouldn't he?) I wouldn't call it "gourmet cuisine" by any stretch of the imagination, and I'm sure The Next Food Network Star won't be calling anytime soon to audition me for a slot. (Although what I lack in technical skill, I might be able to make up for with my witty banter for the camera: "Whoo, that water's really hot, so slide the pasta right in there! Now while that's bubbling away, why don't we push the button on the microwave, to steam our spinach! Two appliances at once...we are really on fire now! Don't go too far, because after the break, we're gonna use another pan to saute some garlic!" Or perhaps I should cut back a bit on my "Rachael Ray" viewing, you be the judge!)

BUT...I'm thrilled to report that the reviews from the Expert Panel of Tasters were uniformly positive. They gave me high marks for presentation (You just can not go wrong with cheese on top, am I right?), cooking technique (Yep, I can boil water and nuke stuff with the best of them), and taste. (When in doubt: garlic. Delicious, and repels the Undead! I really should be in Marketing...) The only note of hesitation whatsoever came from Riley (not coincidentally, the pickiest eater in the house) who examined the pile of as-yet-unassembled ingredients and thoughtfully instructed, "Put a LOT of cheese on mine, Mom. That way, it'll cover the taste of the spinach, but I'll still get all of the health benefits!" (I'm not making that up, those were the exact words from my 8-year old's mouth. So practical, so health-conscious...such a gooberhead!)

I suppose until Jean-Pierre arrives to rescue me from the drudgery of cooking, I'll get by--as long as my family forgives the occasional "cheating". You know what I'm talking about--"Hey, let's have breakfast for dinner!" or "Guys, guess what, it's Soup Night! (And yes, I mean 'from a can'.) Fortunately, both of these announcements tend to cause wild cheering and spontaneous hugs for "the best Mom ever", so clearly the boys aren't deducting points on my Parental Scorecard for my culinary lapses. Whew! And finally, when times are really tough, I know my buddy Cal (ifornia Tortilla) has my back (and our rumbling stomachs) leaving me to focus on some of the other essentials in life...like what's for dessert!

Some more post-graduate education (for Mom!)

Sometimes I complain about my kids' homework, mostly when it astounds me how much earlier in their school careers they seem to be learning things, compared to when I went through the educational process. But so far I've been lucky, in that I still understand the material, and it hasn't gone over my head quite yet. Riley needs help figuring out the mean, median, mode, and range for a set of data? I'm there! Derek wants me to check his calculations using positive and negative numbers and exponents? No problem! (The one exception so far has been the dreaded Statistics--I will never understand those damn "Box-and-Whisker Plots" to save my life.) But every year we inch closer to the time when they're going to throw a question at me, and I'm going to stare at them blankly, trying desperately to come up with an answer because I have no idea what they're talking about.

For example, in Science class, Derek is involved in a unit called Sudden Impact, where they investigate forces such as speed, motion, friction, and gravity to see how they affect objects. Their final project will be to design and test a model-car-bumper that can withstand a significant impact when rolled down a ramp. Sounds absolutely fascinating, right? But the other day he brought home a question sheet he needed to fill out, related to--I'm not kidding--Newton's 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Laws of Motion. Holy 6th-Grade-Engineers, Batman, that's nuts! Even worse, Riley recently wandered into Derek's room looking for a new leisure-time book to read, and picked up a series that Derek just finished. As he began skimming the first page to determine if it was appropriate for his comprehension level, he looked up and noted, "I wouldn't have known this word, if Mrs. C (his 3rd-grade teacher this year) hadn't already taught us about 'Narrative Arc'! You know: tension, climax, solution... " Oh, of course, honey, I ponder those things all the time! (Meanwhile, in my head, I'm protesting, "Dude! You're EIGHT! Knock it off with the NY Times Book Review vocabulary!) Later during soccer practice I heard him color-commentating while kicking a spare ball around with his buddies--"and Riley shoots, the tension builds, it's the climax, he SCORES!!!!" Well, at least he's an athletic nerdling...

So it turns out I was terribly naive in thinking that my days of organized, enforced learning were long over. ("But I already served my time," she says, whining!) If the first quarter of 3rd and 6th grade are any indication, this could very well be the tipping point, when I will have to commit myself to (gasp) studying along with my sons, so I can remain a useful resource in their academic pursuits. No one ever mentions, when discussing the joys and rewards of parenthood, that at some point there will be a return to the days of hitting the books at night, in order to keep pace with the young scholars. Now please excuse me, I have to go brush up on scientific notation and double-bar-graphs so I'm fully prepared for Homework Hour!

Creature Chatter

When I was growing up, my family always had a dog. These were small, low-maintenance creatures (at least it appeared so, since I never saw anyone actually WALK any of them). Husband, on the other hand, lived in a cat house (so to speak). His family always had one or two felines in the fold, as neighborhood strays roaming the area would instinctively recognize pet-friendly humans, and assimilate themselves into the household quicker than you can say "Friskies". So, when Husband and I were crafting our Life Plan, (that sounds so formal--really it was more like a shared Stuff to Do List...just with bigger projects than usual) we put "Get a Cat" right after "Buy a House" and immediately before "Have a Baby". I liked cats' reputations as clean, independent, easy-to-care-for animals, so we adopted a pair of rescued kittens after moving in to our new home. Then we found out I was allergic...and later, so was Riley. And over time, the fur, and the litter tracked through the house, and the unfortunate tendency to munch on indigestible items left lying around (baby-bottle-nipples, anyone? Yum!) and then puke on the carpets (not the tile or the wood floors, where it's easier to clean up, oh no, the rugs, each and every time. Grr!) led me to the unassailable conclusion that while I still consider myself an animal-lover, I am NOT a happy pet-owner.

Why bring this up, after several years of living in a wildlife-free home? Because Derek recently mused, out of the blue, "Do you think I'm responsible enough to take care of a pet?" Slightly startled, I answered, "Um, probably," then quickly followed it up with, "But, forgetaboutit!" before he could formulate any crazy ideas. The subject seemed to be harmlessly averted without any further discussion. However, last weekend, when we were strolling around Valley Forge, it looked like the entire world was out exercising their pooches in the gorgeous Fall weather. Derek peered around wistfully and commented, "Everyone has a dog, can we get..maybe a cute little one?" Hmm, let me see...the answer is still no way. I have quite enough mud to clean up and mouths to feed as it is, so perish the thought! Not to be completely deterred, he countered with, "Well, how about a fish?" Now, we're talking, buddy! I can totally get behind that inspired idea. As long as I don't discover Riley and I are allergic to...Sea Life...we should be a-okay! Hopefully that will satisfy Derek for the next few years, until he moves into his own living quarters, and can share it with any four-legged critter he wishes. For right now, he'll have to get his furry-friend-fix by visiting with friends' canines. When he gets a little older, perhaps he can volunteer at one of the local vets...or earn some spending cash by setting up a dog-walking operation. Happy puppies, money in Derek's pocket, less withdrawing from the Bank of Mom? I'd say that amounts to: Winners all around!

The Family "Business"

Well, September sped past me before I could even blink and...what's that? It's October TENTH already? Are you sure? Because I could solemnly swear on a stack of Bibles that I just flipped the calendar page, like, yesterday! Okay, okay, I guess I'll have to deal with the fact that Fall is flying by, while we here at WestEnders HQ have been caught up in addressing a three-pronged set of goals, aimed at optimizing team production (Does that make us sound efficient and businesslike? That's the illusion--I mean "image" I'm striving to attain...) These areas of focus are as follows: Time-Management, Task Completion, and Resource-Organization.

Now, in terms of Time-Management, I think we've done pretty well. Our progress can be measured by very specific outcomes, such as the critical Not Missing the Bus (we're a perfect 100% so far, at two different times, on two different buses...it'll never last, but for right now, yay, us!) or the equally-important Finishing Homework Before Bedtime (sometimes with much yawning and complaining about being too exhausted to think straight, but it gets done, nonetheless). As for Task Completion, this falls under the heading of  Meeting Homework Deadlines (Derek has racked up only one "I forgot to turn it in" incident; not bad for the beginning of Middle School). I'm certain we'll be tested more stringently later in the school year when both kids are assigned more long-term projects, but at the moment, things seem to be flowing pretty smoothly.

If there's one area that I--as Family Manager--have identified as a potential weakness early in this academic year, it's Resource-Organization, otherwise known as "controlling your stuff". (And by the way, do you like how I just awarded myself a title? I think the weight and scope of my duties entitle me to a hefty compensation package, don't you? Wine and chocolate will do nicely...) For example, Derek has left his lunch at home not once, but TWICE now in 7 weeks of school. The first time this occurred, I briefly considered letting him "face the natural consequences"--all the while wondering what these would actually be...feeling hungry until he arrived home at 3 p.m.? Using some of his pre-paid account to purchase a cafeteria meal? Filching from other kids' plates when they weren't looking? But almost instantly, the hard-wired Mom Guilt kicked in, and I drove his lunchbag to school. (However, when I dropped the lunch off with the Secretary, I conspiratorially asked what the procedure was for delivering it to Derek. Would he be called to the Office and wonder if he was in trouble? Would he be mortified in front of the entire 6th grade at lunchtime? That would teach him! Sadly, when he greeted me in the afternoon, he nonchalantly reported that someone had just handed it to him, with no Public Embarrassment whatsoever. Drat!)

The second time it happened, Meals on Wheels service was delegated to Husband, since I had to leave early for work that day. Derek burst through the door after school and dramatically declared himself "staaarrrvving"...since it turned out his noontime meal had never shown up...and how could it, when Husband sheepishly plucked it out of the back seat of his car at 6 p.m., where it had languished, forgotten, all day long? This time the punishment--for Derek, at least--turned out to be more severe, as he wasn't even able to scrape together a hot lunch, having already burned through the entire amount of money I allotted him for the 1st 9-week quarter. (Precisely how he accomplished this remains a huge mystery. It seems I may need to schedule a seminar in Fiscal Accountability for the Modern Tween--or, See, I Told You There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch!) He was reduced to begging scraps from his friends; thus he subsisted on a couple of potato wedges and an apple slice, until he was able to raid our pantry. (Another valuable lesson: NEVER count on growing boys--no matter how tight your friendship may be--to share their precious food supply!)

So, clearly we have some targets to improve upon before Performance Evaluation time rolls around. In fact, I think both Derek and Husband should be placed on Secret Probation until they get a firm handle on this little Lunch Issue. Of course, they will be welcome to petition for full reinstatement of any and all Family Privileges...if they spell out their plea using a sufficient amount of Ghirardelli dark...

Forging Ahead...to Pennsylvania!

Every year, our Fall season by necessity arranges itself around soccer, with two games each Saturday and two practices on Sundays from Labor Day until almost Thanksgiving. This particular September, the combination of weekend sports and seemingly-nonstop rain put a damper (literally and figuratively) on any other family activities. So, when we noticed that the league had scheduled a brief hiatus, (Yom Kippur fell on a Saturday, suspending all matches for the day) I announced that I wanted to seize the opportunity to get the heck out of Dodge (well, Maryland, but you know what I mean). I explained to Husband that I had itchy feet and needed to go somewhere, to which he incredulously replied, "Didn't you just go to Gettysburg?" Okay...that's true...but it's the whole "drive several hours and see interesting things and stay in a hotel" that makes it the mini-vacation-like experience that I crave. Besides, the forecast for this weekend--finally--included copious amounts of sunshine and temps in the 70s, perfect for spending time outdoors in nature...and stuff. So a plan was hatched, to visit Valley Forge, a huge National Park that promised to provide some of our favorite things: cannons! historical landmarks! hiking trails! On a temperate, brightly sunny Autumn day we couldn't exactly recreate General Washington's grim Winter of 1777-78 when the ragged, under-equipped, sickly and malnourished Continental Army suffered through a brutal few months of encampment outside of Philadelphia. (Because, frankly, only crazy people would want to do that, right?) But we could take a long walk around the park, enjoying the absolutely perfect weather, stopping to examine various monuments and buildings and artillery sites, and people-watching.

And I have to say, the Valley Forge experience did not disappoint. We shared the myriad trails and meadows with stroller-pushing-parents, bicyclists (some with training wheels), kite flyers, dog-walkers, frisbee-throwers, runners, and even horseback-riders. For Saturday's action, we coaxed the boys into agreeing to a 5-mile loop that meandered past most of the interesting history spots on a paved path. When they complained about their feet getting tired, I reminded them that at least they had shoes, unlike the soldiers during the Revolutionary War. And when their energy flagged due to low-blood-sugar, I advised them to be grateful for the...very authentic Fiber One bars we had brought. (Yeah, that's right, I'm sure George wished he had some tasty and nutritious oat-and-chocolate-squares during that frigid December!) Because really, if you can't subject your children to an impromptu lecture while force-marching them through hallowed ground that symbolizes our young nation's heroic fight for freedom, what's the point? (Or is that just me?)

Anyway, after successfully navigating Valley Forge, we plowed on...to the extremely exciting suburb known as King of Prussia. (Honestly, we didn't see much there, I just like saying the name. And I sort of had to explain what "Prussia" was to the inquisitive Derek. I did my best to dredge up a reasonable answer without Google at my disposal; hopefully I didn't invent too much.) I had booked us into a Marriott (naturally, since the rate included the all-important Free Breakfast). Really the only reason I'm mentioning it at all is that in exploring our immediate vicinity, we discovered that our best bet for addressing our rumbling stomachs was: the ginormous Wegman's a half-mile away. Let me explain...this "grocery store" boasted a separate entrance for its "Market Cafe" area, which turned out to offer a veritable wonderland of dining options from pizza, sandwich, and hot entree counters; to Vegetarian, Asian, and Indian cuisine sections; to a fully-stocked sushi bar; to cases and cases of prepared a la carte items. I swear we all spun in circles with our mouths open, trying to even decide which kind of food we'd like for our evening meal. Of course each of us chose something different, which made it even more of a fabulous place for our family-of-varying tastes. (And yes, only with my crew does Dinner warrant its own storyline in the Family Field Trip.)

Next we settled in for a wild-and-crazy evening...of hot showers and SportsCenter. Yep, Team WestEnders sure knows how to live it up when out on the road in the Pennsylvania Wilderness! When we awakened on Sunday, we made a group decision (okay, Husband and I quickly formulated a plan, then informed the boys) to return to the park and hike some of the shady trails that we hadn't had time to explore yet. (Of course we did serious damage to the Buffet first, but I'll spare you the shocking details of how much food Derek consumed...suffice it to say, that boy never met a breakfast item he didn't love...) Upon re-entering Valley Forge, we first stationed ourselves at Washington's Headquarters (Tour Stop 5, which somehow lies off the beaten-path, and was thus passed by on the Day-1 trek). The complex consists of a railway station, a group of log cabins, and a brick building occupied by the General himself during his stint at Valley Forge. To reach the structures, we needed to tromp through thick grass, which was still damp with the morning dew at that hour. Upon stepping onto the lawn, Derek channeled the Revolutionary War spirit by exclaiming, "Ew, it's we-eeett! That's it, I can't live under these conditions! I quit, I'm going home!" (Fortunately, this was delivered in a fake-whine, with a strong undertone of sarcasm...or I would have threatened to throw him in the stockade...or something.)

Then it was into the woods...and steeply uphill...for a few hours of cool, shady, nature-appreciation. Our rocky path wound its way through some quiet forested sections, but also over a covered bridge and parallel to a busily-bubbling stream. Although our legs were admittedly feeling a bit weary by this point (according to the Official Field Report from Private Westman-the-taller and Private Westman-the-shorter), we estimate that we managed to cover about 4 miles on our Sunday ramble. We considered that not too shabby for Day 2 of our Colonial Training Regimen. We could only assume that the Commander in Chief would have been proud of us--at least until we deserted ranks to head back to Maryland. But wait, we were just declaring our independence! Exercising our Constitutional right to...sleep in our own beds! So I respectfully raise my Trail Mix in a toast of gratitude to the Father of our Country for his sacrifices and achievements. Having done so, I can now sneak back--without guilt--to the 21st Century world of modern amenities (indoor plumbing here we come)!

The Joy of Reading (sort of)

Let me just say, right off the bat, "it's not my fault!" You see, I was trying to be responsible for my health, and please my chiropractor, and treat my sometimes-grouchy neck and shoulder area with kindness...so I bought a cute, compact cross-body bag to carry around campus this semester. (YES, I'm going with "blame the bag" as my defense, so what? My well-documented, teensy little inability to resist collecting purses is a whole other issue that we don't have to discuss right now!) Anyway, my adorable accessory met my needs perfectly--it was small enough to force me to reevaluate the contents of my work tote and pare down my "must-haves" to the bare minimum. (Wallet/keys/cellphone? Non-negotiable, of course. Lip balm? Absolutely. Tissues? it's always allergy season around here, so heck yes. All the other accumulated nonessential...stuff? Out it goes!) Except...my radical clean-out and lighten-up campaign caused one unforeseen problem: I no longer had space available to carry a book or a magazine (which I realize most people don't consider a necessary part of their professional day, but sometimes in my job, classes are affected by unexpected cancellations or scheduled tests, and I much prefer reading to, say, twiddling my thumbs or writing out my grocery list during my "downtime"). So, how to resolve this knotty puzzle? Well, clearly I must buy a Kindle! It's miniature, it's light, it holds 35,000 books, and (the best part) it fits perfectly in my new bag! (Can you tell I was simultaneously selling the idea to Husband while patting myself on the back for my genius problem-solving skills? He managed to refrain from rolling his eyes...just. At this point, he patiently accepts both my purse-dependency and my enthusiasm for electronics--he's grateful that at least I shop at Target...and backed down from the 4x more-expensive iPad!)

When my newest toy--I mean "literary device"--arrived, I was excited, of course, but also faced an intellectual dilemma. Should I immediately begin filling my Kindle with popular new releases? (Because after I clicked the "Complete Order" button on Amazon, I composed an instantaneous Wish List of all the recently-published books I want to read very soon. Yeah, that's the kind of thing I do to entertain myself...which I'm sure comes as a complete shock...to absolutely no one who has ever met me...) Where was I? Oh yes, detailing my Nerd Behavior. OR, should I search the database of free material for a Classic piece of Literature that had somehow escaped my notice (or more likely, failed to be assigned to me during my years of Captive Reading in High School...and College...and Graduate School)? I will admit that I waffled over my decision, imbuing it with a sense of gravity that it probably didn't deserve. "But it would be the First Selection," I thought, "I must choose something meaningful and worthy." (Why? I don't have the foggiest idea. It seemed important at the time, like I was setting the tone for my future...Reading Endeavors...or some such nonsense.) After much internal debate (a sample: "I get that I ought to read Dickens, but I'd rather stick pins in my eyes!" and "I realize that many, many people adore Jane Austen...but she just makes me want to throw things!") With varying degrees of guilt--as though there were an English teacher looking over my shoulder, shaking her head and tut-tutting in disapproval at the renowned works I considered and dismissed (Poe: too bleak! Hemingway: too wordy! Dostoyevsky: too...dense!)--I finally settled on (dah dah dah DA) The Time Machine by H.G. Wells...and Paradise Lost by John Milton. (I know, I know, I can't believe I did that either. In my defense, did I mention the FREE part? And, you know, with that cast--Adam, Eve, Satan--I thought it couldn't help being a thriller.)

Quite satisfied with my weighty, significant choices, I couldn't wait to dive in and start absorbing all this good writing. Why, I swear I felt brighter already, just from having downloaded such challenging literary masterpieces. During a quiet moment at lunchtime one day, I tackled the first few lines of Paradise Lost. Uhhh-huhhh. A 10-book epic poem in blank verse written in 1667...what in Heaven's name (ha ha) was I thinking? Yes, I fully expected to find it slow going, even somewhat difficult, but not...utterly incomprehensible gibberish. I mean, I recognize the words as English, but that's about as much as I understand. Suspect I might be exaggerating? ('cuz, well, I tend to do that on occasion) Brace yourself for an honest-to-goodness quote: "From him, who in the happy Realms of Light Cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst out-shine Myriads though bright: If he Whom mutual league,United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the Glorious Enterprize, Joynd with me once, now misery hath joynd In equal ruin: into what Pit thou seest From what highth fall'n, so much the stronger prov'd He with his Thunder: and till then who knew The force of those dire Arms?" 
Say it with me now: WHAT THE???? And just trust me when I solemnly tell you: it continues like that...forever! Oy! So in defeat and despair, I switched to H.G. Wells...and in the very first sentence encountered a word I didn't recognize. Oh no! I thought I was supposed to be getting smarter! On the plus side, the Kindle comes equipped with not one, but TWO dictionaries you can utilize to look words up instantly. (In case you're curious: "recondite" means profound or obscure. You have my permission to go ahead and throw that into cocktail party conversations.)

Fortunately Riley, also enamored with my new plaything, provided me with a distraction by requesting that I find him a story about toads (his latest obsession, don't ask). I chanced upon a nice little (99-cent) tale entitled Mr. Toad Gets Married. And when things got too tough on the Medieval Poetry and Early Science Fiction fronts, I read it too! (It was charming...and oh, so easy!) So for now I'm going to stick with it ("Learn 'til it Hurts", that's my...just-coined...motto) but there is no doubt that my next download will be something light and fluffy...and possibly even trashy, to balance out all this painful Great Literature. Hmm, I wonder how much the latest Sookie Stackhouse novel goes for these days...