Sunday, December 30, 2012

Out with the old...

In the waning moments of 2012 (which I am tempted to call "Overtime" after we all successfully survived the extremely exaggerated end-of-days phenomenon last week) I feel compelled to highlight some of the more noteworthy events of my family's year in a Special Wrap-up Post. I can't believe that for as long as I've now been writing this thing such a thought has never occurred to me before...nevertheless it seemed an appropriate point at which to begin the trend, as we've had a few Team WestEnders Firsts in the past 12 months.

For example, Derek was granted unconditional release from his (dental) Life Behind Bars, after orthodontic treatment that lasted almost five long years. He now boasts a mouthful of beautifully straight teeth--which he utilizes to full advantage by flashing his signature wicked grin to accompany his frequent smart-aleck comments. (On a related note, the pre-teen qualities of Withering Sarcasm and Obnoxious Sassiness have increased exponentially as well over the course of his 12th year. Yaaayyy.) Of course, somewhat ironically, Riley strolled (more like "was shoved, kicking and screaming") into Braces World himself, a few months later. To their mother, this makes both of them look sooooo much older and more grown up (sniffle)...

Which leads us to the most radical changes of 2012, taking place in the...ahem...."physical realm", if you will. Yes, this will go down in infamy as the year when my oldest son surpassed me, heightwise. And don't get me wrong, I always knew this day would come. Even when they were tiny babies, I'd already resolved myself--in the waaaayyyy back of my mind--to the fact that eventually I'd be the shortest person in the household for sure. In my head, though, I planned for that to happen when the boys were in, say, HIGH school, forcryingoutloud, not...7th grade. I still outweigh him (barely), but in the past 8 months since his annual checkup Derek has sprouted 4 inches taller and packed on 14 pounds. Considering that as recently as Thanksgiving I held a smidge of an advantage, I'd say it's a safe bet that he's not done with this spurt just yet. Scary enough to think that soon I'll have to tilt my head to look up at him...but also, as the person who is primarily responsible for purchasing, preparing, and plating the food he consumes, all I can add is: Yikessss! At least my "baby", Riley, although he's ahead of Derek's growth curve by several pounds and inches already, remains the perfect height to rest my chin on top of his head...for now...

And speaking of health-related revelations, during this span of calendar pages I learned a few things about myself. Chemically speaking: FE (iron) is GOOD...but too much C6H12O6 (glucose) is BAD. How do I know this? The evidence became quite clear--after several months of twice-daily iron supplements, I suddenly found my running routine to be suspiciously lacking the too familiar slog-through-the-quicksand feeling I'd been experiencing for, oh, a year maybe? And here I had just accepted it, resignedly accepting that I was just getting old and losing a step (or two...or twenty). However, I did lose something else instead: up to a minute off my per/mile time. Huh. Whaddya know? Around the same time I also was informed by my Primary Care Doctor that my long-term blood sugar indicator put me in the unfortunate range of "at risk to develop diabetes later in life". There immediately followed a brief, outraged burst of "what the HECK?" since the only possible factor I have against me is family history. Then the rational brain kicked back in and I took a long, hard look at just how much of the sweet stuff I was eating...in a mindless, habit-kind-of-fashion...oops. So I cut back. And about 13 pounds melted off almost instantly. Yet another "who'da thunk it" moment.

I suppose that's about it for the major news. We didn't move, or anything--although we did visit another country that was new to us all, namely our friendly neighbor to the South, Senor Mexico. (And frankly, given the cold, blustery weather we've been treated to the past several days, I suspect Derek's almost ripe to be swept right onto the old "Mom's relocating to California" bandwagon any minute now...) I'm looking forward to ringing in 2013 with friends and family, excellent party snacks for my growing boys...and maybe even a cookie or two. (Shhh! Festive Food does not count!) Happy New Year!

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

A Yule Log (ha!)

For me, what makes the Winter Holiday Season so special is sharing time, memories, and traditions with loved ones. This year my family had to regroup after several recent losses of people near and dear to us. And as Christmas crept closer, we found ourselves putting our heads together to figure out ways to keep the spirit alive. In the end, some rituals stayed completely the same, a few got tweaked to make them better fit the new scheme of things, and one or two might have been quietly scrapped, in the interest of preserving the Elves' jolly outlook...and sanity.

First, Christmas Eve at Casa WestEnders. When the boys were younger, Husband and I began permitting them to open one gift on December 24th, to help them contain their anticipation...and let's face it, to distract them with a new plaything for the day. This plan obviously needed to be maintained, since they both began counting down several days before, and reminding us (you know, as Aging Parents who might suddenly forget these important agenda items) of its impending arrival. And by that, I mean down to the exact TIME they wished to rip open a package. Afterwards, Derek requested a screening of the Muppet Christmas Special...and the Year Without a Santa Clause...and Rudolph. I think he just wanted to bundle himself in a blanket and huddle on the couch for a few hours, but I can easily see this becoming a new annual habit. Finally, just like every year, we head to church to hear the story of Jesus' birth and sing favorite carols.

Then there's Christmas Day. My precious sons again had set a strict wakeup-and-unwrap schedule (a perfectly reasonable, agreeable 8:30, allowing me ample time to sneak down to the kitchen and brew coffffeeee beforehand, so I could be merry and bright, rather than...grinchy). Next, as always we piled into the car, making the trek to my Dad's to celebrate with the extended clan. Under the heading of "Some Things Never Change", we still require all the kids (ages 12, 10, 9, 8, and 5) to sit at the top of the stairs for a photo before we turn them loose on the loot. Oh, and before they have at it, everyone must hang their "Special Ornament" (the one engraved with their name) on the tree. We take a moment to remember Mom, Tracey, Aunt Renie, and even longtime-family-dog Goofy when adding theirs as well. Then the children are free to rifle their stockings, uncovering their aunt's sweet scores from the Dollar Store...whoops, I mean Santa's Swag, of course (wink). After that...it's just cousin commotion for a while as paper flies and squeals ring out and treasures are held up and admired. 

At last, when all that hard work is finished...it's time to eat. Now, here's one spot where my sister and I conspired to trash tradition...I mean "uncomplicate our lives"...um, "create a special new custom". You see, my mom (bless her patient heart) used to stand for hours cooking breakfast for all 12 of us. She presided over the pancakes and slung the sausages, batch by batch, until everyone had their fill (and with Derek, that could take...a while...) Instead, Sis had the brilliant brainstorm to concoct an ooey-gooey-yummy French Toast Casserole. (a la Paula Deen, y'all--but with a modified, non-artery-clogging amount of butter and eggs!) And I had an epiphany of my own a few days beforehand, and was inspired to whip up a sort of Southwestern Veggie-and-Egg dish to bring along. Voila! (Which in this case can be loosely translated as: "everyone sits and eats at the same time"...or something like that...)

And for the grand finale...we joined hands around the giant Christmas tree and sang "Da hoo dorais fa hoo dores, Welcome Christmas Christmas day" just like the Whos...no, that's not it! Rather, with bellies full of brunch deliciousness, and hearts full of warm family bonding, we bid a fond farewell to Christmas 2012. To plagarize--I mean "quote"-- another beloved fictional character, "God bless us, every one!"

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Good Tidings We Bring...

After a looooong week chock-full of rushing willy-nilly like a hyperactive Santa's helper (me) and trudging off to work and school (everyone else), my family finally coasted into Winter Break with a collective sigh of mingled exhaustion and relief. Along the way, we bravely met and surmounted all sorts of challenges:

Seasonal--having once more endured the darkest week of the year to greet the Solstice, and as a reward, being able to celebrate the incremental increasing daylight...one second at a time. (Although that means now it's actually Winter, and cold weather can't be far behind....but let's not talk about that, I'm much happier here in my State of Denial...as a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it's somewhere near Hawaii...)
Calendar...ial--watching the date of the projected Mayan Apocalypse approach...and pass with minimal hoopla and zero end-of-the-world destruction. (Whew! Somehow December 22nd never had quite this level of fame or appeal before, did it?)
Retail--in which I tackled Costco, Target, and (in a daring move never before attempted, due to it being...ill-considered...um, foolish...oh, heck, it's just stupid) a MALL, mere days before Christmas.

Then came the fun stuff. Wrapping presents. Sleeping in. (Well, for the male-type-people, anyway. Somehow I always wake up at the same time. But at least it's soooo blessedly quiet when I do...) Drinking coffee (me again, of course, and Husband as well) and savoring breakfast, rather than shoveling it in before galloping out the door to the bus stop. (Okay, that last part mostly relates to the boys, since I'm perfectly satisfied by my mondo mug of java and usually do more of a brunch-ish meal.) Basking in extra leisure time--whether that means more Angry Birds (Who, me? She protests, batting her eyes innocently...) or Driveway Basketball Tournaments or Basement Football Playoffs or reading under a fleecy blanket.

And there's even more merriness right around the corner. Tomorrow, as per our Official Holiday Agreement (which incidentally involved several meetings, offers and counters, mediation, and tons of negotiation to hammer out the details. Those kids are tough customers, I tell ya...) all Youthful Parties will be permitted to open their Stocking Gift as well as one Parcel from their South Carolina grandparents. Later we'll head to church for a nighttime Christmas Eve service. And finally we'll settle in for a Winter's nap to rest and refresh before over-the-river-and-through-the-woods...ing to my Dad's house for the Christmas morning circus (complete with cousins...and choice cuisine).

With all the festivities ahead of me, and with the monkeys in bed and the TV now mine, all mine (mwah hah hah), I believe it's time for some adult entertainment...you know, gazing at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, drinking a steaming cup of peppermint tea, and catching up on my DVR recordings...whatever did you think I meant, naughty elves? And to all a good night!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Our Version of Santa's Workshop

A few weeks ago Derek casually asked me, "So, whaddya want for Christmas?" I was busy with some other chore at the time--packing lunches, wiping the counter, loading the dishwasher, you know, something inane but necessary--so he probably only had about a third of my attention. Thus I flippantly answered him with the first thing that sprang to mind: "World Peace!" Instead of the chuckle I expected, though, I heard an exasperated humph. Then he burst out with, "Dad wants a Lamborghini, you want World Peace...what am I supposed to DO?" That stopped me in my tracks. "Oh, you were being serious?" It's just that he'd never asked that question before, so I was caught off guard by this conversation. You see, we'd long ago left the preschool days of creating a craft-tastic gift ornament for Mom and Dad out of foam and glitter--most of which still hang on our tree, of course. Now, as a pre-teenager, he suddenly had the urge to spend his December allowance on presents for his family, rather than video game like the rest of the year. (Pause to gasp in sheer wonder. Continue...) How thoughtful! How touching! How the heck are we gonna make this happen?

Well, first we needed to bring Riley on board. Next, we formulated a plan for the inaugural Super Secret Shopping Spree. (Okay, technically it wasn't at all clandestine, since the whole crew knew about it...but we liked the cool code name and the aura of intrigue nonetheless...) We designated a date and a destination (Our target? Target. Ha!) And then, for the most thrilling detail of all: real money! That's right, I handed my little consumers cold, hard cash for the first instance in...well, suffice it to say a verrrrry long time. Since the boys most often locate their goodies in the Store of Awesomeness (um, I mean "Amazon") and pay virtually, using Bank of Mom Credit, it doesn't usually make sense to fork over the moolah. But in an attempt to maintain an element of mystery, they were going to experience buying the old fashioned way, by handing over the actual bills. Trust me when I tell you they were practically giddy with joy at the sight of our friend Andrew J.

With all the strategic preparations completed, it was finally time to storm the marketplace. However, without any meaningful suggestions from Husband, our little band of elves wandered around kind of at a loss for a while. (Sample conversation: "No, he doesn't want Angry Birds boxers. You can't get him a Nerf gun just because you want it. He has no use for [fill-in-the-blank novelty item]. Most of these comments were directed toward Riley, who seemed to be experiencing a painful case of Novice Shopper Syndrome...) Clearly, we lacked inspiration. There was even mounting irritation. But at long last we meandered over to the seasonal display, where we found something he would enjoy: a festive tin of Mixed Nuts. No, I'm not kidding, that's what we settled on, for the man who turns out to be the nearly impossible Giftee. Of course, when I pointed them out as an option, Derek snickered. Yes, I said "nuts", get over it! I exacerbated the problem by turning to Riley to explain, "It's perfect, Dad really likes nuts!" At which point Derek snorted and doubled over in hysteria, rendering him useless for several moments until he managed to pull himself together. Sigh.

Whew! With the most challenging person checked off our list, we headed for easy pickings, in the Toy section. We split up and I accompanied each child in turn to help guide them toward a game of some sort that their brother would find amusing. Really, that was the least complicated ten minutes of the entire excursion. Only one task remained: choose something for Mom. Earlier, I had hinted to Derek that he could select a pair of earrings for me, since I wear them every day and, like most girls, have a Love/Love relationship with all things sparkly. I thought this would entirely solve his dilemma and simplify his life...but he shot me an incredulous look and sputtered, "You trust me to pick out something you'll like? Reaaaallly?" Nonetheless--although admittedly with some trepidation--I steered them to the Accessories to peruse the offerings (and crossed my fingers). A few minutes later, Derek came to find me because they were having difficulty deciding. So I did what I should have in the first place, and showed them an example of what I might wear. "You mean, not these?" Derek joked, holding up 3-inch gold hoops. "Or this?" waving a chunky, multicolored, crystal-bedazzled necklace. He was joking, but I'm still relieved that I got to put in my vote before the final selection was made. (Five minutes later as they were tallying their total spending, they inadvertently spilled the beans about what they'd chosen, but it's all good...)

Thus successfully ended what I suspect will be known as our First Annual Team WestEnders Holiday Shopping Extravaganza. The boys were quite pleased with themselves--the budgeting of funds, the choosing of special surprises. I was proud of them for getting caught up in the spirit of giving. And let us not downplay the extraordinary fact that we survived a trip to Target, 6 days before Christmas. Now with the hard work behind us, we're free to sit back, drink hot chocolate, listen to carols, and try to keep Riley (aka "Impatient Santa") from slipping too many clues before the official Big Reveal next Tuesday...

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Happy Ho Ho Ho (and whatnot)

At this time of year our daily high temperatures around here have begun their inexorable downward slide into the "too-chilly-for-me" range, and the daylight hours are disappearing as we skate toward the Winter Solstice. These two events tend to make me somewhat grumpy (which may or may not be a massive understatement, I'll let you be the judge). So to counter that, it's a good opportunity to contemplate some seasonal happenings that lift my spirits instead. Without further ado:

--Semester Break. While I do love my job--the intellectual stimulation, the linguistic challenge, the collaboration with talented, helpful, and all-around-wonderful colleagues--I also appreciate that every 15 weeks, we get to wipe the slate clean, take a refreshing hiatus, and start over again.

--Justifiable napping. When it's cold outside, I don't harbor the slightest drop of guilt when pulling a fleecy blanket up to my chin, curling up into a ball, and snoozing for an hour. After all, I'm not wasting time, I'm...conserving body heat! That makes it healthy, rather than unproductive or (perish the thought) lazy! When Springtime rolls around again, I know I'll feel like I should be outside taking advantage of the sunshine and warm breezes; for now, I choose to practice Selective Hibernation, thank you very much.

--On a related topic: Reading Under the Covers. Particularly when all four of us congregate after dinner on the King-sized bed, each with our own book, for a cozy family Story Hour. Bonus for me: sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with my three guys is like having my own little fleet of space heaters! Aaahhhh....

--And when we're not sequestered at home: Fiestas. Extra special time spent socializing with friends and family, meeting new people, catching up on news. Of course it almost goes without saying, but you can't overlook the huge benefit of Party Food. There's something magical about all those treats--I mean besides the fact that I didn't have to prepare them myself. I believe that all of the laughing and gabbing and wandering around one does during a shindig help to negate any calories one consumes. Call it the...Social Metabolism Boost. (I may very well be delusional, but that's my rationalization, and I'm sticking to it! Heck, I might even trademark it...)

--Finally, as December hurtles on at an astonishing clip, Christmas rapidly approaches. Obviously this means boundless excitement, gleeful anticipation of surprises, and even more cherished moments spent with loved ones. But also, for me, it means the beauty of special Music we only get to hear during this month. Singing carols in church. Listening to all-holiday programming on several local radio stations. (But thank goodness I discovered a religious channel that plays all of the traditional songs. Because honestly, after the 75th Jingle Bell Rock I was D-O-N-E. And can someone please tell me who decided that Last Christmas was anything other than a breakup tune with Christmas mentioned in the title? And why on earth did 47 other people think it was a brilliant idea to re-record it? Yeah, I'll take Angels We Have Heard on High, thank you very much...)

So that's it, a partial Happy List for this season. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to turn on some music and get ready for a party!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Bracing for braces


Well, it seems that no sooner had Older Son finally gotten all the hardware removed from his mouth, that Younger Son was judged ripe for torture—I mean “braces-ready” himself. Being a seasoned, battle-scarred veteran of the Orthodontic Experience (both my own, and Derek’s), I politely listened as the hygienist relayed crucial information (you know, good stuff like “foods you can’t enjoy for several years”, “how not to rip out a wire”…oh, and of course the more mundane “proper brushing technique so as not to walk around with bits of your last meal stuck in your brackets for all the world to admire”). I nodded at the right times to show I understood. But in my head I was thinking “this is old news, honey, we’re gonna be just fine.” Ha! Silly me, I forgot for just a brief moment how radically different my two boys are. You see, drama-free Derek sailed through the Braces Years in his typical placid fashion. He might have complained—quietly—that they felt uncomfortable after a tightening. He might have requested—calmly—a dose of pain reliever to help manage the ache. He might have mentioned—gently—that it sucked not to be able to bite into certain foods or to eat others at all. Seriously, all he needed was sympathy and a hug, and he was fine. It was about the easiest outcome a parent can ever expect when comforting their child through something potentially traumatic.

And at first it appeared that Riley would follow in his brother’s footsteps. He emerged from the Orthodontist’s office and proudly displayed his shiny new accessories. He even returned to school in a positive mood, without requesting any medicine. But…then he arrived home at the end of the day and immediately collapsed in a tearful mess. “I HATE braces!” he sobbed, curled up in a ball and hugging a pillow. Turns out the pain took a while to hit, and he was now getting the full force of a very sore mouth. He consequently hadn’t been able to eat his lunch, so I’m sure that contributed to the suffering. I went into Mom Fix-It Mode, and began offering possible feel-better options. A nice, soft banana? (“I can’t chew, he protested”.) Yogurt? (No teeth required!) Hot chocolate? (Just sip it; I swear, it’ll be easy!) Each idea was met with a dejected shake of his head, as if nothing I could possibly suggest would ever ease his misery. It was pathetic, I tell ya. At last I convinced him to try taking Ibuprofen to see if that would bring some relief. (About 30 seconds after he swallowed it, he moaned, “It’s not working!” Sigh. Patience, grasshopper, is clearly not one of your strongest traits...now lie down and give it a chance!)

I have to admit, given this unexpectedly less-than-promising beginning, I began to feel a bit of trepidation about the long Metal Months ahead of us. How could he withstand the repeated agony of every-6-week adjustments? And how could I cope with the accompanying whining? Fortunately, we had Derek’s recent experiences--and ultimately successful resolution--to reinforce the point that Riley would, in fact, survive this. And I was even able to use my own saga to lend credence to our claims. I remember getting my braces on in 7th grade…the day before I was scheduled to take the SAT with a group of my Nerd Society—I mean “scholastically gifted”--peers. (It should be noted that the timing of this was NOT one of my mother’s more brilliant ideas…) The morning of the test, my mouth was absolutely killing me. I had to bring a lunch, and as I recall the only thing I could manage was: a banana and a peanut butter sandwich. The upshot was, sharing my Tooth Trials got Riley to smile a little...and persuaded him to try the Elvis Diet until his chompers got back to normal.

Anyway, as we promised him, the initial shock and pain did diminish. Actually, after that first day, he only asked for one more Ibuprofen. He resumed meals again—well, mashed potatoes, soup, applesauce, cheese, and the like. And the attitude returned to his usual exuberant (if still dramatic) self. So, I’m happy to say I think we’re all going to make it through this process one more time. I just need to be certain to stay stocked up on peanut butter, bananas, Ibuprofen…and hugs!


Monday, December 10, 2012

Holiday cheer through the years....

Some things you can count on to happen in a comfortingly reliable fashion--the sun rising in the East...Derek consuming his weight in food each week...and our annual Holiday Open House. Having learned my lesson last year about how to streamline the preparation process, I made one big Costco run, then sat back, pretended I cooked everything myself, and humbly accepted compliments on my incredible culinary creativity and skill. No, that's not it! (My friends know me far too well to make that a viable option, anyway.) What  really happened: I stuck to my actual strengths, which means choosing tasty foods and arranging them on the table in an appealing manner. Then I was free to relax, mingle with my guests, and enjoy my own festivities.

This year as I circulated among the partygoers, I noticed one dramatic way in which our shindig has changed. It became immediately apparent, in fact, the moment people began arriving. Adults came to the door to be greeted and ushered inside...and children remained outside, welcoming each other in their own special way...such as when I glanced out the window and spied several of them scaling a nearby tree, while others pranced around the base of the trunk, egging them on. Others sprinted directly into the back yard, initiating a spirited game of football. The shenanigans continued unabated (and here's the absolutely KEY point) without any adult intervention necessary, for hours. Honestly, the only time we saw the munchkins was when they would breeze through the kitchen, swiping food on their way to the next activity. (Oh yes, and that one other occasion when an unauthorized, overly-raucous Nerf Battle Royale broke out, characterized by excessive whacking with spongy weapons, earpiercing shrieks, and several complaints of minor pain caused by application of too much...foam...force. We did have to step in and break that one up.)

I've been throwing this seasonal bash for many years now, since before Husband and I even knew each other. And let me tell you, those early fetes were verrrryyyyy different than the family-friendly fun that occurs nowadays. Given the fact that my supervisory abilities were not needed, I was actually able to regale some newer friends with a story from those wild...er times. Back when we were all young and single and childless, one of the pastimes we engaged in during my parties was cookie-making. One memorable get-together, a friend helpfully brought along some tubes of slice-and-bake dough to contribute to the cause. And wouldn't you know, it just so happened that in honor of holiday baking, they included a soft, squeezy Pillsbury Doughboy toy. Why? Beats me. But someone thought it would be hilarious to hide him in my tree. I didn't find it quite so...festive...and removed it. However, every time my back was turned, that sucker ended up right back among the branches. And for the next umpteen Christmases, that became sort of the signature party game. No matter where I hid that silly little guy in my apartment, some sneaky pal would locate it and plop him in the evergreen, like some kind of renowned...Dessert Elf, or something. Finally, one year I gave up and bought a sparkly ceramic Doughboy ornament to forever adorn our tree...in at least a slightly classier fashion.

After that rambunctious phase, many of my friends began to get married; so naturally, spouses joined in the proceedings. (The "Couples Period", if you will.) Then inevitably came the rugrats. And for a while, events tended to center in one room, around a contingent of bouncy seats and diaper bags. (The "Baby Age".) Then the kids grew, and we entered the "Chatting on the Run" portion of our entertainment. Conversations followed the toddlers as we gamely attempted to string together coherent sentences while handing out animal crackers and sippy cups. Next, blessedly, the kiddos started keeping each other amused (that, and popping The Grinch into the DVD player could calm and quiet an entire roomful of munchkins. God bless Dr. Seuss. Amen.) And finally, we seem to have reached that beautiful point where we can almost ignore our beloved offspring and make believe we're truly having a Grownup Gala. As I flitted from room to room, making sure I got to spend some quality time with each of my honored guests, I reflected on how wonderful it was to have reached this era. Who knows, maybe some day in the not-too-distant future, if we adults play our cards right, we can swing full circle and reintroduce sugar cookies...or maybe those crazy days are behind us...and we should just chill out on the couch while queueing up The Grinch! Either way, happy holidays, indeed!

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Life Lessons...with Legos!

One rewarding piece of the parenting gig involves encouraging one's children to develop their interests, and to pursue activities that they enjoy in their free time. Since my own offspring happen to be energetic boys, their preferred leisure activities often gravitate toward running circles in the backyard, chasing/throwing/catching/kicking a ball of some sort. When they're driven indoors by cold or darkness or rain, one hobby they've come to appreciate is building with Legos. Derek seems to be growing out of this a little bit, but Riley still will sit for long periods, concentrating intently on creating a structure to add to his desktop Brick City. If you happen to catch a glimpse of him working, you can almost see thought process chugging along in his head, as he first envisions and tests his idea, and then implements the final design by manipulating those colorful plastic blocks. Legos are one of those wonderful pastimes--both educational (shhh! no one needs to know they're practicing engineering skills!) AND fun. They get the unequivocal Parental Stamp of Approval.

So imagine my delight when a note came home from his elementary school informing us that there would soon be a club starting up...for Lego enthusiasts. If this isn't right up Riley's alley, I don't know what is. After I sent back the permission slip, I received an email with further details. Among the important procedural items--cost, meeting dates and times, blah blah blah--I caught one very entertaining fact: the group will be called the Junior First Lego League. How formal! How official! How....very much like a Secret Superhero Society, yes? (Okay, maybe this is attributable to my time as a child watching Justice League cartoons. You know how kids have imaginary friends? Yeah, Superman was mine. My mom stopped asking who I was talking to when she found out I was having conversations with the Man of Steel...okay, that's entirely enough embarrassing childhood confession....) But doesn't it sound like they should have, I don't know, masks and capes? Or at the very least, special...Lego...toolbelts, or something? I wonder what their missions would be like? Fighting for safe building practices? Exposing and correcting shoddy construction? Ooh, speaking of which, I hope they get to make their own Headquarters! A fancy, well-appointed hideout where they can gather to discuss...Lego...issues...and plan how to defeat the Forces of Evil ranged against them. What do you mean, "who could possibly be their sworn enemies"? Why, the Duplo Block Club, of course!

Whew! Clearly the television shows one watches as a young, impressionable child can have lasting effects long into adulthood. So I'll just keep this all to myself, and let Riley and his little architectural buddies do their thing...while I go catch a syndicated episode of Lois and Clark for old time's sake, and wait patiently to hear what the J.F.L.L. will actually be doing with their sessions from now until March. (Thinking back, I do recall something in the initial communication about "working in teams, brainstorming, collaborating, problem solving"...but that should leave plenty of time to set up that Command Center, right? Here's hoping...)

Monday, December 3, 2012

Dear Abby, Adolescent-Style...

Do you ever wish you could hear exactly what people thought of you, without having to filter through any of the tactful social conventions or polite beating-around-the-bush? Well, if you chat with a preteen boy, you just might get his honest, unvarnished...bordering-on-obnoxious....opinion. For example, Derek wandered into my room last night to share a favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic he'd just been rereading. In it Calvin's parents had left him with a babysitter for the evening.  Of course Calvin got up to his usual mischievous hijinks, and in a clever but misguided attempt to rid himself of adult supervision, anonymously called the police to report that he and his stuffed pal were being held in a "hostage situation". Whew, his Mom and Dad must have been in stitches, right? After Derek had gleefully recounted the highlights with much hilarity, he calmed down, paused for a moment, then soberly stated, "You and Dad never DO anything." Um...excuse me....what? He continued, "Yeah, he goes to work, and you just...are a Mom. You guys need to go out more!" Oh, I was onto him: "You mean so you can plot ways to terrorize a babysitter, too?" But he denied it, "No, you just need to be more...wild!"

What can you do defend yourself against such a heinous charge? (Because clearly, in his eyes, this is tantamount to being a deadly dull person with no redeeming value whatsoever.) Naturally, I immediately launched a vigorous protest. "But, but...I go to dance class!" He scoffed, "That doesn't count." Um...thinking, here..."Sometimes I do dinner and a movie with my sister!" He remained supremely unimpressed. In desperation I threw out, "Wait, sometimes I meet friends for lunch!" He favored me with his most withering look and shot back, "And I'll bet you sit nicely, and talk quietly...MY lunch is probably more exciting than that!" (Translating from Boyspeak, I inferred "exciting" to mean "unruly, raucous, and borderline-visit-to-the-principal-worthy". So yeah, I guess my Ladies' Lunches are quite civilized and tame by comparison...and we've never gotten thrown out of anyplace, so actually that works for me!)

I began to realize--with dawning horror and mortification--that perhaps he has a point. I like to think of myself as somewhat adventurous--or at least open to new experiences--after all, I ride roller coasters! I snorkel! Heck, I even take week-long vacations where I'm carbound for thousands of miles with my family...on purpose! If that's not wild and crazy, I don't even know the meaning of the words. The kicker is, there are soooooo many stories I could tell him, about driving cross-country by myself (totally shareable); about hiding out on a train from Monaco back to France because my travel companion and I had neglected to buy roundtrip tickets and didn't want to get stranded (mild criminal activity--probably okay); about calling in sick for three unauthorized days to attend Mardi Gras with friends and staying up all night...ahem....frolicking (yeah, he's not hearing anecdotes about that particular interlude, anytime soon). But I suppose in day-to-day LIFE, the details are in fact pretty regulated, structured, and predictable around here. I'm not saying this is necessarily bad, either--it keeps us organized and running pretty smoothly in general. However, I concede that my 12-year old, with his blunt analysis, has actually made an insightful observation: perhaps we grownups need to shake things up a little bit, break out of our routines, and try some daring behavior...at least once in a while.

Great, that's decided! Now, I wonder if he has any suggestions...

Friday, November 30, 2012

Deck the Halls...and stuff

After a restful, long-weekend break for Thanksgiving, it felt like an abrupt, somewhat shocking-to-the-system return to routines on Monday. (Some might even call it "drudgery"...particularly the Middle Schooler who had to resume the dreaded 6:45 a.m. wake-up schedule...) But a non-eventful week ensued, and everyone made it through, getting where they needed to be, completing their required tasks, keeping on top of things. (Oh--and for the younger set, that would mostly be thanks to whom? That's right: M-O-M. And for the nagging...I mean tushie-kicking reminders...um "organizational motivation", you're welcome.) Where was I? Oh yes--now it's time to flip the calendar to December (pause: aaaarghhhhh! okay, continue...) and commence with Operation Holidays. I know, already? Stick with me, elves, we've got a lot of work to do!

Several things signal the merry fa la la season for me. First, there's the arrival of Christmas music on the radio. I'm not talking about in stores, where they start running I'll Be Home for Christmas on a continuous loop immediately after stowing the Halloween costumes. And I won't mention one particular station in our area, which since the dawn of time had kicked off the musical celebration as it should be, the day after Thanksgiving, but which made the unforgivable decision a few years ago to start a week earlier. (Blasphemy! There shall be no First Noel-ing or Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, before the turkey-fest!) Anyway, next we have my family's fun annual tradition of secretly exchanging gift ideas. Imagine it as the equivalent of passing clandestine notes back and forth...only using Facebook these days. Then, of course we have the actual purchasing and wrapping (and hiding, in the case of my nosy children) of said goodies--although nowadays I try to shop mostly online, to avoid the inevitable driving and parking and dealing with the crush of  frenzied humanity that typifies the December retail scene. But then you have the thrill of mysterious brown boxes showing up on your porch, so that's a bonus.

And let's not forget some of the other pleasures of this month. Festive fetes--lots of delectable food + sparkling conversation with adult friends = relaxed and happy revelers. Gingerbread lattes, which are soooo yummy they must be healthy, right? Even whipped cream doesn't count from now until January...because....er...it's cold outside, so your body burns the calories while shivering! (Yeah, that's totally what I'm going with...) And since I mentioned the abhorrent "c-word", at least at this time of year when it's nippy and the sun disappears so early, we have the twinkly lights on people's houses to brighten our long, dark nights. Speaking of which, I have my own bedazzling to do, tomorrow when I pull the stockings and other trimmings out of the storage room. The WestEnders helpers (funny, they're all MALE) will take on the extremely important and delicate job of assembling the tree. (Yeah, we've gone artificial due to allergies--so it comes out of a box each year and lacks that piney aroma, don't judge our fake greenery!) Then we'll all hang ornaments, reminiscing about the story behind each one as we add them to the branches. (Later, I'll go back and move things around when no one's looking, since the boys tend to clump their favorites together, while everything should really be evenly spaced...do you think there's a support group for Type-A decorators? Sign me up...)

Well, there you have it. Tomorrow it's "hit the ground running" to get December off to a successful --and yes, joyful--beginning. After a nice warm mug of coffee, of course...and maybe some browsing on Amazon...and picking just the right CD to inspire our efforts. So then, noon-ish is quite a decent, civilized hour to tackle one's Saturday To-Do List, don't you agree? After all, we wouldn't want to burn out all of our holiday spirit too quickly...

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Thanksgiving Talk, 2012

This year my clan had to figure out how to navigate our first Thanksgiving without my mother. She had always prepared the spread, and we had gathered around her table to share the food and family fellowship. So we were obviously dealing with a huge emotional impact of missing her at this special holiday time. There was no Mom/Grammy in the kitchen, measuring and stirring and shooing children out from underfoot and "thinking out loud" trying to remember all of the steps needed to prepare multiple dishes for a ravenous crowd. She wouldn't be there at the head of the table, buttering rolls for everyone, reminding the kids to use their table manners, and surveying the feeding frenzy with her contented smile.

So, we expected and accepted that our Thanksgiving celebration would include an undertone of sorrow this year, as we remembered Mom and mourned her passing. But suddenly, around Halloween, it struck my siblings and me that...we'd be required to conjure some sort of sumptuous feast...by ourselves! Holy...turkey and stuffing and potatoes and pumpkin pie, Batman, we've gotta plan and execute this sucker...without our Commissioner Gordon standing by to bail us out when the going gets rough! A moderate panic ensued, as the obstacles in our path were formidable, to say the least. I mean, to start with, we have one vegetarian--who had to solemnly promise NOT to introduce Tofurkey into the trying-to-maintain-tradition proceedings. (Yeah, too much, too soon...maybe next year...) We then present at least one youngster who refuses to even consider touching a green vegetable. (Um...these would not be my offspring, in case you were wondering...) But the most daunting issue, of course, was how to cook the...darn...bird. None of us has much experience with such a task, and some of us have zero incentive to learn the fine art of fowl-roasting. (Hello, non-flesh-eater here...) Fortunately a clear solution emerged: pre-cooked turkey breasts available through my sister's workplace. Yesssss, check that one off!

Next we moved on to some of the smaller, but equally important, side-items on the agenda. And by that, I literally mean "side dishes to accompany the meat centerpiece". Here, I got away with making potatoes au gratin, rather than your standard "mashed". These luckily passed muster with even our picky eaters. The organic stuffing mix, I confess, was less successful. Although it included only wholesome, vegetarian-friendly ingredients, the preparation apparently needs some tweaking to reach the moist, chewy deliciousness we expect from stuffing. (Eh, there's always next year, right?) We snuck by with canned gravy (shhhh! nobody cares!) but we almost encountered a major stumbling block with that beloved (other) icon of Thanksgiving dinner: that's right, I'm talking about the cranberry sauce. Now, my family absolutely puts their collective foot down on this one--cranberry sauce exists only in a can. You know what I'm talking about, the jellied variety, that when you finally manage to break the suction and get it to slide out, retains the shape of the steel container, complete with the ridges? Yeah, that's the one. But my sister inadvertently bought--are you ready for this--the kind with real, whole cranberries in it! Gasp! She was momentarily horrified; however, I was actually thrilled and furthermore assured her that my gang would embrace the fruit without question. (This proved to be absolutely true, score one for the mighty cranberry in its natural form!)

Finally, feeling pretty darn pleased with ourselves for putting out--certainly not a Martha Stewart-level, but quite possibly a Sandra Lee, semi-homemade worthy--repast, we could relax and finish off with dessert. And if the pies were baked by the grocery store (which they were), nobody minded. The meal had been a collaborative effort, assembled with love, and we were thankful to have been blessed to enjoy the plethora of food, family, and fun together. That's really all anyone can ask for...with the exception of leftovers...and maybe a well-earned nap!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Tales from Dreamland

Normally, I enjoy very peaceful, restorative sleep. I'm suitably tuckered out from my daily activities to drift off fairly quickly, I slumber deeply through the dark hours (without any dream memories--stay tuned, more on that later), and I wake up under my own power refreshed and ready to do it all again. With apologies to any insomniacs out there, why do I mention this? Because yesterday I uncharacteristically tossed and turned through a disjointed night of restless, interrupted, unable-to-get-comfortable, wired-brain twilight dozing. When it finally ended, I felt like a cantankerous Sandman had--instead of merely paying a gentle visit to sprinkle me with soothing sleep dust--run over me instead...while driving a dumptruck...and delivering a truly bizarre dream as a "bonus".

In my worse-than-usual fog this morning, I tried to figure out why on earth this had happened. The first thing that sprang to mind was a sneaky culprit: caffeine. You see, a week or so ago I decided that the acid in coffee might be irritating my stomach, so I switched to the powdered Mocha Capuccino mix I'd bought to make the kids' hot chocolate...which happens to be decaffeinated. I noticed that I yawned a little more than usual for a few days, then my body seemed to adjust and I didn't miss the stimulant effect any more. But yesterday for some reason I decided to make a real cup of coffee. WOW, what a mistake! My hands shook for hours, I felt strange all day (hard to pinpoint exactly how, just a little..."off"), and then I experienced that weirdly disrupted night of non-rest. Coincidence? I think not.

Now, to the dream portion of our self-sleep-study. We have a mixed bag of dreamers in our house. Husband and Derek seem to remember theirs more frequently, and will recount silly tales of comical mischief or mayhem or just...ridiculous situations, as tend to be created by our subconscious when we're asleep. I've already mentioned that I rarely hold onto any details of my nighttime musings. But Riley, whether because he has a very sensitive nature, or due to that wildly overactive imagination of his, has been prone to nightmares, at least lately. A few nights ago, in fact, he slunk into my room at about 10 p.m., plopped himself down with a heavy sigh, and announced in a quavery voice, "I can't stop thinking about tarantulas." Proud parenting moment: I did NOT laugh! Oh no, I immediately began replacing the image of creepy crawly hairy spiders with creatures he likes, such as ducks and frogs and turtles and...bunnies. (For that extra bit of cute, fluffy...non-venomous appeal, ya know?) So I guess maybe I had dreams on my mind more than usual. And the caffeine, did I mention that I was waaaaayyyyyy over-juiced yesterday?

Without further ado, here is what remained stuck in my head from 3:45 a.m.'s cinematic mental masterpiece: there was a lady (I don't think it was me), her toddler daughter, and her husband. They lived in one unit of a garden-apartment-style building. La la la, all boring and mundane, right? Suuuure--until one day, some zombies started gouging a hole in the kitchen floor near the refrigerator, trying to tunnel their way into the apartment. (No, I don't know how my brain conjured zombies! Unless they drink java, too?) The woman notified the Zombie Response Team, who promptly showed up and deployed the most effective, high-tech tool available to them for repelling the undead: strawberry ice cream. That's right, they plugged the entry point with some of the melty pink stuff, then went on their way. However, the persistent monsters returned, snuck in, and managed to infect the husband. He was sitting on the couch, revving up to become a full-fledged, flesh-eating evil guy, when the wife barreled in and snatched the toddler away just in time. Then the mom and daughter fled the scene with only the clothes on their backs, living on the run and spending nights in their car. (Why? Who the heck knows...zombie pursuit risk?) Then I woke up. Thank goodness.

Sooooo...clearly, the demon caffeine is RIGHT OUT as a morning drink choice. (At least in a cuppa joe--I seem to be able to handle caffeinated tea and Pepsi One with no problem. One more thing I don't understand...) And although I tend to avoid The Walking Dead and other offerings in the zombie-genre, I may have to lighten up on the supernatural reading material a bit until this blows over. And spend some quality time before bed thinking about panda bears....and tiger cubs...and bunnies!

Monday, November 19, 2012

Sweet Talk

I've been the only vegetarian in my household for about 4-1/2 years now, though coexisting quite peacefully with my carnivore husband and sons. No one else has shown any inclination to join me on the meat-free bandwagon--which is totally fine, to each his own. But occasionally in our ongoing nutritional education, a subject will present itself that we all feel a need to explore further. For example, a recent topic that popped up involved the oh-so-benign, sweetly puffy ball of goodness commonly known as: the marshmallow. You see, these little treats that we sprinkle so liberally on top of hot chocolate are held together using gelatin. I know I've ranted about this before, but it bears repeating--gelatin itself is made from...leftover cow...scraps. I know, yum, right? Definitely not vegetarian, and frankly, not even appetizing as far as I'm concerned. (I do realize that the structural makeup of gelatin is just not something most people even spend a millisecond thinking about, but what can I say, I'm obsessed with knowing what's in my food before it goes into my mouth. For better or worse...)

Riley, who has been known to temporarily visit the Vegetarian Squad from time to time, suddenly decided that, like me, he was revolted by the idea of gelatin. So the last time I raided the grocery store, I took a minute to search for a variety of marshmallow made without animal detritus. The only interesting specimen I encountered was stocked in the Kosher section, and contained (wait for it) "fish gelatin". Better...still not totally veg-compatible. This led us completely off on a tangent, as the curious boys wanted to know what "kosher" meant. I dug up examples of packaged food in our pantry that bore the familiar "K" symbol, and explained as best I could in my limited, Christian-knowledge sort of way. When I finished stumbling through the brief facts in my repertoire, what they took away from it was this: "Whaaaaat? No cheeseburgers????" Suffice it to say, they were thoroughly horrified at the sacrifices required by some faithful souls, to maintain their Jewish customs.

But, back to our original issue: how to reconcile the desire for gooey, creamy blobs-of-fun on top of our warm Winter drinks...with the wish for non-animal-based options? As is soooo often the case, Google came to the rescue. That's right, I am utterly delighted to report that one can obtain "vegan marshmallows", in which the binding agent is none other than your friend and mine, that powerhouse known as: carrageenan. Not familiar with the fancy name? Sure you are, it's used as a thickening substance in many products, including but not limited to ice cream. Oh, and incidentally it's derived from seaweed. Plant matter--we're totally okay with that! So tomorrow in my travels I need to wind my way to a natural-foods store and scour their shelves for this wonderful product. Then (providing they actually taste delicious, of course) we can all savor our cocoa knowing that no creatures were harmed to provide us our tasty drinks. Cheers!

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Formula for Success

We're having a bit of an issue with my youngest son these days. Nothing major, thank goodness; it's just that he's becoming (gulp) quite the math maniac. It's true that Riley's always had an affinity for numbers. I mean, this is the kid who, if you use the conversational convention of rounding answers like "it's 3:15-ish" or "there are about 20 people here", will correct you to the precise minute or number of attendees. "Actually, he'll say in a deadly serious tone, "it's three-thirteen." Or you'll see his head bobbing gently as he counts the bodies and murmurs, "18 people." Yeah, sorta cute...a smidge annoying, but I always chalk it up to "he'll grow up to be a biologist or an engineer, where exact measurements will prove critical to his work." That usually keeps me from acting on my desire to chuck rolled-up paper projectiles at him (how many? about 4...or maybe 5...) like an exasperated kid mocking the class geek.

So, one day a very official looking letter came home in a sealed envelope, from the Counselor at his school. I was instantly on alert--was there a problem? Did he have a situation so dire he needed to discuss it with a professional? Why didn't I know anything about this??? I ripped open the envelope with trepidation and scanned the typewritten message: "Your child has been invited"...blah blah blah..."great opportunity"...blah blah..."participate in Math Olympiad". Whew! He's not in trouble, he's just a...big honkin' math nerd. Now, I immediately envisioned how this could easily go either way--he'd be excited and proud, or horrified and embarrassed. (What I actually heard in my head was him shrieking "Go to school early? For extra math? You've got to be kidding me, NO WAY!) Thus I began plotting how to persuade him that this would be both super-cool, and interesting. I needn't have worried. When I told him about the note, he pumped his fist with an enthusiastic "yessssss!" as his entire face lit up. Oh-kay, then, looks like you'll be spending some quality time on Tuesday mornings exercising your "logic and problem-solving skills" with some of your 4th-grade buds. Have at it, son.

Since that fateful day, it seems we've been besieged by digits. Everything has the potential to become an equation. For example, when the guys in our family did the Color Run with a group of friends, Riley's soccer coach (whose son happens to be a close pal and classmate of Riley's...and also a fellow...mathlete--ha!) teased the boys that while they jogged, they should practice some word problems. Without missing a beat, Riley piped up with, "Okay, if 8 people each throw 3 colored packets at you, how many colors would that be?" Sigh. You just never know anymore when you're going to be tested, so you've gotta stay sharp at all times. (I, personally, downloaded a free game on my Kindle where you fill in all the possible blank equations with a given a row of numbers. Challenging, but fun! Once again, I have to wonder where he gets his Dork Genes? Just can not imagine...) It's fine, though, as he's obviously chosen to embrace his inner math scholar. He frequently throws out random number sentences that makes us laugh--Me: "Did you enjoy the tacos I made for dinner?" Riley: "They're okay, I like them, oh, about 70%" (Yes, he does talk this way...) And his explanation? A shrug and an almost-apologetic "Well, I am in Math Olympiad..." And the good times just keep on multiplying. That's it, I have nothing else to add. (Sorry! I promise I'm done...for now...)

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Meditating on yoga...



While I wouldn't call myself an exercise junkie by any means, I do find that regular activity helps me remain on an even-keel, both physically and emotionally. (Stop laughing! And imagine how unstable I’d be if I didn't work out!). But I'm also someone who craves change and loathes repetition--okay, I mean "easily bored". So I run. And walk. And take dance class. And bike. And lift weights. Confession: I do all of this because of one basic truth--I love to eat. Oh, and of course I don't want to get weak and soft and flabby as the years pass. One thing that has become apparent to me as I age (not so much gracefully as…defiantly…) is a steady decline in flexibility. Granted, I was never one to blithely twist myself into a pretzel shape or casually sink into a full split, or anything like that...but I’ve noticed for a while now that my hips, especially, have progressively tightened up. Honestly, this hasn't caused me much pain, or impacted my range of motion or functional day-to-day tasks…that is, until I joined my new Jazz class. Suddenly I wanted to do high kicks and plies and nose-to-knee stretches, and it just Was. Not. Happening.

When I mentioned this to my massage therapist (you know, hoping she'd say, "oh, wait a minute, I can fix that right up for you") she paused for only a millisecond before advising, "Well, get back to a yoga class!" D-U-H! (She didn't actually add that last part, or even imply it, as she's far too kind and caring. But I felt like an imbecile nonetheless for not thinking of it myself.) I used to take yoga when I belonged to the local gym; then for a while I practiced myself in my basement on occasion. But as time slipped by, I'd gotten away from it somehow--and she was unequivocally right: boy, did I need it! So I found a nearby class that miraculously fit into my day off, changed into some downward-dog-friendly pants, grabbed my trusty mat, and set off to give it a try.

Keep in mind, the only formal class I'd ever attended with any consistency was called Power Yoga, and took place at a fitness establishment, not a Studio. So I was used to a swiftly-moving, muscle-focused lesson, where the goal fell more on the "raise your heart rate/tone your bod" side of the spectrum, rather than the "follow your body's cues/flow with your breath" end. My preconceived notions (which I didn't even realize I HAD, until I arrived) were shattered the moment I lowered myself to the floor...and the instructor began...affirmating? She started by reminding us of our purpose for the day, which was apparently to cultivate openness and gratitude. Hey, I'm totally down with that! Bring it on! But as she read relevant passages from a book to reinforce the message, and talked about "accessing the backs of our bodies" I kind of lost the thread. Um...I don't really understand how to achieve that. I mean, it all sounded nice...but it just wasn't sinking in for me, you know? And as we sat...and sat...oh, and "centered"...I found myself thinking "Alrighty, I'm good. Can we move now? Wait, there's more? Tick tock!" NOT the preferred yoga consciousness you're aiming for, to be sure. (As for ‘centering’, I’m pretty certain I still don’t know what that means…unless I was supposed to be in the middle of my mat…which I was! I checked! I had a few free seconds while everyone else was apparently busy tuning into their ‘backside’, or whatever…)

But please don’t think I’m making fun of the teacher, or what she was trying to accomplish…it was clearly a case of “it’s not you, it’s me”…as in “I recognize the truth of what you’re saying, I’m just having trouble getting in touch with my inner…self-awareness”…or something. And then, just when I was about to get uncontrollably fidgety, she suggested we lead off with a few “oms”. Uh oh. Everyone around me filled their lungs and intoned the syllable, as if they were creating the sound from the very depths of their diaphragms. The room practically vibrated with their sincerity. And all I could think, as I sat there silently, was “ohhhhhmmm, mmmmy goodness, I am sooooooo not a chanter!” Fortunately, after those few awkward (probably only for me) moments, we got around to the business of taking poses.

While the subsequent physical portion of our practice wasn’t quite as…strenuously paced…as I’m used to, it definitely challenged both my strength and balance, which felt wonderful. (And incidentally, my hip joints did indeed cooperate much better after my hour-plus of bending and contorting.) I absolutely believe that it would be beneficial for me to continue attending class…I might just need to test out a few different varieties until I find one that…resonates…with me. Hmm, could it be I’m just not as crunchy granola as I thought? Well, I can try to improve that, right? Until then, I’ll work on bringing more patience to the mat, clearing out my brain clutter, and yes, “going with the flow.”
Namaste! 

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Family Matters

My extended family suffered a tragedy this past week, a sudden and completely unexpected death that left everyone stunned with shock and grief. The heartache in this case is compounded even further, if possible, by the fact that my mother passed away only 5 months ago. We were already contemplating how to approach this first Thanksgiving dinner--over which Mom presided each year with an abundance of love...and food--without her guidance and spirit. And as if we needed just one more painful thing to ponder, we always rolled my mom's birthday into the feasting and frolicking as well, as it falls on November 24th. From now on there will be two fewer chairs filled at the table, although I am certain the presence of our loved ones who are no longer with us will be strongly felt whenever the rest of us all gather together. So it seems like a strange time to be feeling thankful, but in the midst of our loss I found myself touched by the way my family supported one another. We're generally a stoic, buried-feelings kind of clan (I've always attributed it to our Irish/German heritage, "stiff upper lip" and all that), so I was proud and grateful at how everyone pulled together and leaned on each other. Maybe difficult experiences teach you things about the people closest to you that you never had occasion to see before. Here are some lessons learned, and even small moments of joy, from this week:

Sometimes the most comforting hugs come from the smallest arms (even if they only reach as high as your waist).
Riley, my in-touch-with-his-emotions guy, isn't afraid--or ashamed--to cry when he feels the need.
Apparently, consuming several boxes of Nerds can temporarily take your mind off your sorrows.
If you stand in the middle of the floor and twirl around in a sparkly cotton-candy-colored dress, you can magically lift the hearts of an entire roomful of adults.
Inexplicably, male cousins can manage to turn even a wake into an impromptu wrestling match.
Never underestimate the power of an inside-out superhero t-shirt...it may not fully protect you from sadness...but it might just lift your heart a little bit.
The "right words" to remember someone, mourn their passing, and celebrate their life can encompass soothing, thoughtfully-chosen scripture delivered by an empathetic pastor, warm testimonials to a person's compassionate and loving nature...and also, hilarious tributes to their fun-loving, irreverent personality, the kind that only close family members can get away with telling.

Obviously the consequences of losing someone continue, long after the formal ceremonies have concluded. But during this unspeakably sad time, when "real life" got temporarily put on hold so that the people left behind could focus on saying their goodbyes, I found a measure of peace by recognizing some very basic universal wisdom. For example: hug tightly and often. Give yourself permission to surrender to tears, without worrying about looking weak (with all due respect to Frankie Valle, big girls--and boys--do cry). For that matter, if physical expression helps you deal with your emotions, then by all means go ahead and stage your own little WWE therapy session. And once in a while, even if people are watching, unleash a spontaneously giddy pirouette or two...glittery pink outfit entirely optional (but what the heck, right? Me, I might even add a tiara...) Most of all, life is fragile and precious, so try to spend every day appreciating the family and friends around you. We miss those who have gone, but we hold them in our hearts, and cherish the special memories they left us. And we promise to smile when we think of them...and to keep on dancing.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

What's in *your* wallet?

When I was growing up, money was something that my parents just didn't discuss with my siblings and me. I think it was considered a private, "adults only" topic, not appropriate to share with children. Don't get me wrong, I heard plenty of "that's too expensive" when I wanted some kind of overpriced trendy fashion item. (And we're talking about the 70s, so I'm sure it was always something utterly hideous like wide-legged corduroys or plaid polyester tunics...come to think of it, Mom was probably doing me a favor...) Or the equally popular "we're not spending our hard-earned dollars on that" when I set my sights on a silly fad toy. (Pet rocks, anyone?) But concrete lessons about saving, spending, or making wise financial choices? Not so much. We didn't really get into the nitty-gritty of how much things cost, or ways to comparison shop, either. And we certainly never touched on the taboo topics of handling credit, or managing a loan.

And I totally get it: different generation, values, economic landscape, blah blah blah. But Husband and I have opted to take more of an open-book approach with our kids, to try to equip them as best we can for the day when they will have to steer their own financial ship. So we started giving them an allowance when they each reached Kindergarten age--80% to their own wallets, and the other 20% automatically taken off the top (by the Bank of Mom) to be equally split between a Savings Account and a Donation Fund. Any electronics or video games they crave must come from their funds. When they have enough accumulated wealth, I help them scour Amazon for the most competitive prices. If they tire of a game, we trade it in for credit that they can apply toward their next selection. And this has all gone remarkably smoothly...especially since it means I never have to keep cash on hand to pay them, as everything is online-ordered anyway! (Hey, they're learning about credit already, and even "virtual banking", right? I'm merely preparing them for the not-so-distant future when the government determines it's too much of a waste to continue printing bills and minting coins, and e-commerce replaces the "currency of the realm"...)

Over the years, we've found that Derek tends to be a patient, save-up-for-something guy. He reads reviews of games he's interested in (I taught him that!) and talks to his friends before he commits any of his precious resources. Riley...well, he's my impulsive spender. As much as I try to counsel him on the "less-is-more" philosophy, he's just a boy who likes...stuff. Let's just say money does not grow warm in his pocket before he's looking for a way to unload it on whatever's caught his fancy this week. For example, when informed that it was time for him to receive his November allowance, he lit up with that "spendthrift" glow he gets, and asked to peruse Amazon...for a stuffed Toad character. (From the Mario video games...I should mention that he has FOUR of these creatures already, each a different color...the boy has a diehard collector--or packrat--mentality, what can I say?) Now, as he'd already ordered a Nerf battle ax, (don't ask me, the brother-warriors evidently need more ammunition to beat each other to a pulp in their imaginative combat games. I'm a girl, I don't pretend to understand...) he didn't have enough remaining in his coffers for the Toad. In stepped Derek, who offered to "lend him the $5" so he could complete his purchase.

Wow. Unexpected formal business transactions happening right in front of me! I was not anticipating banking this morning in our pajamas, but I hastily intervened anyway, to clarify the terms of our proposed bargain: "You realize that means next month $5 will be subtracted from your allowance, and added to Derek's, to settle the debt?" Riley nodded vigorously in agreement. "And neither of you will have any money left for the rest of this month?" Both indicated that they understood. "And you're sure you want to do this?" 'Yes' from each one. Riley was practically dancing on the spot in his excitement as he exclaimed, "I'll be nice to you and play whatever you want for the whole month!" Derek and I both reacted with extreme skepticism to this outrageous promise. "Okay, then I'll call you Sir Derek for the rest of the day!" This cracked Derek up, and he readily accepted the honor (and of course the extra payback in December).

So there you have it. The boys' first official loan, complete with terms of repayment, sealed with a handshake (even that was their idea). Sniffle. I'm so proud! If this transpires successfully, next time maybe I'll introduce the concept of "interest" and see where that leads...

Sunday, November 4, 2012

From the minds of 007 and 004...

Because sometimes, you just need a laugh, I hereby present selected excerpts from the Goofball Brothers' very specific, well-thought-out...extremely ridiculous...Plans for World Domination. (I am able to do this because I sneaked the documents from their rooms--shh! That gives me an idea: I think in order to truly fit in with this nefarious organization I need a super-secret undercover spy name! Like Natasha...or maybe Ivana...and don't ask me why my alter ego seems to be Eastern European, if I told you, I'd have to...well, you know...)

So without further ado, here are some highlights of Riley's sequence, in his exact words:
1) Study (why? to get good grades)
2) Get glasses and braces (why? people will think you're a nerd)
3) Go to Yale (why? nerds go to Yale)
4) Get in jail (why? to see police program bombs)
5) Make flash drive (why? to reprogram all of Russia's bombs)
6) Activate flash drive (why? blow up Russia)
7) Same with France
8) Make parrots use guns (why? no more Mexico and South America)
9) Go to England, get knights (why? take over Europe)
10) Get Justin Bieber and Carly Rae Jepsen (why? to sing)
11) Have Bieber and Jepsen sing so loud Canada sinks to their knees (why? now you can toss it in the Arctic)
12) Get hockey players (why? take over Asia)
Why? You just conquered the world!

Um...I fear my younger son may not be using his considerable powers of imagination and creativity for the good of mankind...but at least he hasn't initiated his evil agenda yet. (At least, not that I know of...excuse me a moment while I go check his room for suspicious materials...) But if I ever wonder where on earth he gets these notions, I need look no further that right next to him, where you'll find his big brother, his role model, his partner in twisted, fictional crime. This is the brainchild of Derek, titled (wait for it...) Care Bears and Unicorns:

1) Get good grades (reason: every nerd has good grades)
2) Get accepted to some Ivy League school like Harvard or Princeton (reason: nerds go to these schools. requirements: red brick walls, rowing powerhouse)
3) Graduate with a degree (reason: to wear one of those funny hats)
4) Get hired by a car company (reason: cars are cool)
5) Build some revolutionary car engine (reason: to get famous)
6) Get hired by NASA (reason: NASA is such a nerd company)
7) Design tasty space food (reason: space food sucks)
8) Become famous, endorse Old Spice (reason: even nerds need to smell good)
9) Marry some hot chick (reason: she's hot)
10) Take over a rocket, go into space (reason: you'll see...)
11) In an epic battle between space nerds and aliens, take over Mars (reason: so the aliens can be slaves)
12) Make a trip to Uranus, and find out it's inhabited entirely by females (reason: as a small vacation)
13) Come back to Earth, use aliens to take over NASA
14) Have aliens build a time machine
15) Go back in time, get Dr. Frankenstein (reason: he can make things come alive)
16) Get Dr. Frankenstein to make teddy bears come alive (reason: you'll see...)
17) Make the teddy bears pink and you have CARE BEARS!
18) Call in the people from the National Zoo (reason: they're a walking, talking, animal dictionary)
19) Breed narwhals and horses (reason: to make unicorns)
20) Train your deadly army of Care Bears and unicorns
21) Take over the U.S., China, and Russia (reason: to help your army)
22) Get some nerds (and Dr. Frankenstein) to build some crazy lab-generated creatures
23) Review your army: Care Bears; unicorns; ninjas from China; nuclear weapons from Russia; zombie vampire Care Bears; U.S. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines; uniraptigerphants (unicorn raptor tiger elephants)
24) TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Oh. good. grief...besides the disturbing references to the opposite sex (hormones kicking in much?), we have an amazingly inventive-yet-alarming amount of cartoonish combat. And to think the only video games they're allowed to play are rated E-10! I don't imagine Halo contains "graphic scenes of...stuffed animal violence". I shudder to think how something like Call of Duty would affect their already-warped little minds...maybe we'd better just stick to sports and Mario characters and the like...that is, until they take over the world, of course!

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Tales of a 4th Grade...something

Well, Hurricane Sandy has come and gone, after treating us to two days of torrential downpours and powerful winds. Through it all, our electricity bravely stayed on, and our built-in-the-70s house remained watertight. For our tremendous good fortune, we were a bit awed--and a LOT grateful. Even more surprisingly, Team WestEnders weathered (ha!) the 48 hours of enforced housebound togetherness with much cheer and little "getting on each others' nerves". There was reading, relaxing...and a smorgasbord of other (indoor) recreation. (It never ceases to amaze me how many games the boys can invent--given a foam ball, a scant few feet of open floor space...and the seemingly undeniable male compulsion to tackle one another!) Honestly, the only negative effect the storm had on our lives was that the heavy rain blocked satellite reception so we couldn't watch live TV. I know, "whoop de doo". As far as fallout from a "major meteorological event" goes, I'll take it!

So now I'll grab a few moments to catch up on some recent conversations with Riley...my 9-year old "deep thinker". This is the child who, one night when I went in to tuck him in, sleepily greeted me with, "You know why it'd be good to have a tapeworm? Because that way if I was in an eating contest, versing Derek, I could win. Then I'd have the tapeworm taken out and go back to normal." Um...that's a lovely idea, sweetie...sleep tight now..... (Sheesh!) And he has a tendency to ask questions that on the surface seem simple and straightforward; but because I know him and how much he likes facts and information, I get sucked into a long and complicated response. Such as: one morning he innocently inquired, "Could we move our bodies if we were just skeletons?" Of course the short answer is "no". However, (being a card-carrying Nerd..I mean "supporting my child's curiosity and quest for knowledge")I felt compelled to add the bits about how it's our muscles that move the bones, and the ligaments and tendons connect things together, and really, we couldn't do much without our skin to hold it all in place...blah blah blah...until we suddenly noticed the time, and had to made a mad dash for the bus stop. (What? Just call it our 9 a.m. Anatomy 101! Quiz next week...)

Then there are the times I wish I could actually see inside his brain and watch him formulate his ideas. Like when we were in the car one day and he threw into conversation "A friend at school said you can be an aunt or uncle, even if you're a kid. Is that true?" I explained how, if you have a much older sibling who then has their own baby, then yes, it's possible. The wheels began spinning, and he continued, "Oh, so if you and Dad had another kid, and Derek got older and had a baby, then my little brother or sister and I would be an aunt or uncle!" Um...yes, theoretically...soooo many things wrong with that scenario that I don't even want to address...thank goodness he changed the topic himself as he mused, "I used to think the way a baby turned out to be a boy or a girl was that the mom and dad had a race, and whoever won, that's what it was." (The tone in his voice was ruefully amused--like he was also thinking "how silly I was, when I was just a kid".) Oh....kay...are we there yet?

Finally, he came home one day from school with a mischievous glint in his eye, and his hands hiding something behind his back. When he had my full attention, he proudly presented...a collection of tiny pyramids, painstakingly constructed out of notebook paper and tape. Now, I am aware from his daily homework that they're currently studying the properties of solid geometric figures in Math. "Those are great, honey!" I gushed. (secretly hoping he'd made them in his free time, rather than when he was supposed to be doing classwork...) "Thanks!" he beamed, as he arranged them neatly on the computer desk. "They're the Pyramids of Giza!" Oh, of course they are. So obvious, I should have guessed, right? That's what happens when I fail to be on my toes for a millisecond around here. Right now he and his brother, continuing their unprecedented bout of sibling harmony, are sequestered in Derek's room writing their (wait for it) Plans for World Domination. I'm not making that up....I think I need some hot tea, a cozy blanket, and a totally light-and-fluffy television show to clear my brain...

Sunday, October 28, 2012

"Frankenstorm"? Reaaaallllly???

Whatever life events, family stories, or personal narratives I intended to chronicle this week have completely been overshadowed by the current state of hype, hysteria, and hurricane hoopla. That's right, folks, what we're experiencing here is a State of Emergency (it must be--the Governor said so) in which the entire region waits in a limbo of high alert and near-panic...before the first raindrop has even fallen or the initial strong breeze has blown through. You see, we're about to be visited by the remnants of Hurricane Sandy, which whipped through the Caribbean last week. Being situated a thousand miles away, our region is battening down the proverbial hatches for up to 6 inches of rain and a great deal of gusty wind. People are worried--rightfully so--because during the Summer our area fell in the path of a freakishly intense thunderstorm that managed to knock electrical power out for up to a week in some neighborhoods. The thought of this happening again is...troublesome...to say the least.

So there's been the by-now-expected Grocery Store Pandemonium as folks stock up on essentials: batteries, canned goods, toilet paper, bottled water. I mention the last one because although it's not something that's usually on my radar, it suddenly became critical to my household. You see, about a week or so ago, we noticed water bubbling out of the ground at the end of my cul-de-sac. It was enough of an apparent leak to make a sizeable puddle on both sides of the cross street. The water and sewer company finally showed up to address the problem...on Friday. They proceeded to dig a giant hole in the road--shutting off our water supply for about 12 hours to do so--and work on the broken pipe. Just when I was about to officially freak out about potentially being "dry" for the weekend, the crew hastily patched up the crater and disappeared into the night at about 8 p.m. Our water flowed again...albeit in a decidedly sludgy sort of way. Brown. Smelly. Ick. After all of the houses began running their taps, it improved...a bit. It remained cloudy for another day, then finally ran clear, but with a persistent, pervasive, unpleasant chlorine odor. In short: acceptable to wash bodies and dishes and clothes, but NOT to drink.

And whaddya know, this was transpiring at the exact moment of the colossal run on all forms of packaged water...yippee! Now, normally I shun the whole concept of paying good money for water in plastic bottles. (Because I'm both environmentally-minded...and cheap. There, I said it!)  But this came under the heading of "necessity" as far as I was concerned. So I slunk to the store, joining the hordes of other citizens filling their carts--I almost wanted to explain to everyone I passed in the aisles that I wasn't one of "those people" who rushes out to prepare for the end-of-the-world every time one of the Weather Wonks cries wolf. But I just purchased my water and a few other critical items (such as Halloween candy...c'mon, don't tell me that's not vitally important!) and quietly scurried home. (The shelves that usually hold bottled water were practically swept bare, by the way.)

Besides the unscheduled Expedition H2O, this Sunday unfolded like any other. The boys enjoyed their allotted video game time. Husband raked the backyard so we wouldn't have to wade through deep mounds of sopping wet leaves after the storm. I caught up on laundry and managed to fit in a workout. It was a relaxing, calm day to set things in order before the hustle and bustle of another week. But...something about the "best laid plans"...the County Notification System started to buzz with activity: schools will be closed Monday and Tuesday...the college where I work will also suspend classes...evidently we're ALL collectively boarding up and sheltering in place until Sandy finishes her unwelcome visit and gets the heck up on outta Dodge (or , you know, "Maryland" ). Husband staunchly claimed he was going to work. (With his back turned, he missed my raised eyebrows and skeptical expression at the thought of him...paddling...to his office in his little Honda Civic, on the hilly, winding, low-lying, flood-waiting-to-happen road he takes to get there. Yeah, right.) About an hour later, after checking a weather-weenie-website once more, he wisely reversed his position and decided to login from the Home Office (aka: the spare bedroom downstairs).

So that's where we stand at the moment. Instead of a typical "run around and get things done" Monday, I'll be rained in with a houseful of boys. I'll be missing my peaceful, productive hours...but I promise not to complain at all if the power stays on! (Fingers crossed...oh, and at least we have drinking water, right?)

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Pumpkin Pondering...

Well, we threatened to do it last year, but this time we actually carried through--The Great Pumpkin Patch Boycott. Wait, that makes it sound like we're some kind of defiant...Harvest Rebels...with an irrational hatred of gourds, or something...or worse yet, that we're staunchly opposed to the classic Charlie Brown television special, which is totally not the case...

In reality, all it means is that rather than the whole "authentic farm experience", we opted to drive 2 minutes to a nursery in town, take a leisurely (mud-free) ramble through their extensive collection of already-picked (and washed) pumpkins, and select a couple to adorn our front porch for the upcoming Halloween season.  (Did I mention the lack of dirt in this process? Verrrrry appealing. Also, for once I did not end the excursion with straw stuck in my...everything...and have to spend the rest of the day picking it out...and scratching...and sneezing...) No muss, no fuss, right? Ha! Have you met my Evil Henchmen--I mean "delightfully helpful and astonishingly well-behaved children"? (Actually, I'm sure they'd vastly prefer to be called the former...shhh!)

Our outing initially was marked by cooperation, high spirits, and pleasant attitudes. As we entered the fine establishment, there was even an urn of hot apple cider, to sample as you wound your way amongst the pumpkins. Auspicious beginning! It went downhill from there...first Riley spied a box filled with mini-gourds. He proceeded to excitedly snatch one that could fit in the palm of your hand, triumphantly wave it aloft and proclaim, "I want this one!" Sigh. I hastened to explain that--adorable as it undoubtedly was--no one would be able to spot that on our steps. Undeterred, he firmly countered with, "Then it can go in my room...as a decoration!" Ah, my precious little Designer-slash-Packrat. You are NOT, in fact, going to toss an organic vegetable product in with the overflowing landscape of your desk, where it will assuredly be forgotten, until it commences rotting around Thanksgiving. Just not the Fall Motif we're trying to achieve, I'm afraid. Moving on...

After I convinced him--with much difficulty...and pouting--to aim for a grander gourd, we began examining the other offerings with a critical eye. Not large enough. Too lumpy. Mushy side. I swear we were like the Pumpkin Review Board, we were so serious about finding the ideal shape and size. Naturally, Derek gravitated toward a huuuuuge, round, enormously weighty pumpkin and declared it the ultimate winner. Um, nooooo. His stunned expression said it all; how could I possibly turn down such a superior squash? A quick economics lesson ensued, during which I illustrated with a simple mathematical equation how very disinterested I was in paying--best guesstimate--thirty bucks or so for ONE pumpkin. Of course Derek launched immediately into disgruntled-preteen-mode, completing the remainder of the trip under protest since I had squelched his first suggestion. For each pumpkin that I pointed out as a possibility, he invented some minor fault to dismiss it--until in total exasperation I informed him that I was going to give up and just start heaving hay bales at him to amuse myself. Surprisingly, he made the laudable decision to get with the program after that...

In the end, we came away with two attractive, reasonably-priced pumpkins for our efforts. And being the organized, advanced-planning person that I am, I believe I've already figured out how to make next year's field trip even quicker and easier: I'm sneaking out and going all by myself! (Yay, more cider for meeeeee!)

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Color me...nope, never mind...

Three-fourths of Team WestEnders is off this morning participating in a 5k fun-run (or walk, if you prefer) in Washington, D.C. Obviously, that would be the "Y-chromosome" portion of our household, as I sit here in my cozy bedroom, nursing a steaming pumpkin-spice-flavored coffee. (That I didn't even make myself, but lazily obtained from 7-11's delightful pushbutton machine. Bless lifestyle-enhancing technology...) And just why, you might wonder, am I--an avid runner and all-around outdoor-loving person--opting to sit out this very social event, which involves not only my own clan, but also several of our closest soccer-family friends? You mean, BESIDES the glaringly obvious answer: Peace. And. Quiet? It's 10:00 on Sunday morning, and all I can hear is the dishwasher humming, and the furnace kicking on to run the heat. The boys aren't asking me for more breakfast. I don't have to answer any questions. There is no bickering that requires supervision. In fact, no one needs me to find or do anything at all. (Alright, I've already grocery shopped, packed lunches for tomorrow, and finished a load of laundry--but whatever, I did it without having to discuss it with anyone...)

If that weren't reason enough to boycott this little adventure, let me add a few more: 1) The guys had to get up at 6 a.m. Now, that doesn't happen for me on a weekday, much less a Sunday. I've said it many times--I consider any time before 7:00 to be absolutely uncivilized. I don't want to see, much less interact with, the early-morning world. There's just not enough coffee to make that attractive to me. 2) Then they met the caravan for the hour-long drive into the District. Ugh. If there's anything even less appealing than being out of bed at dawn, it's commuting...and parking...in our Nation's Capital. 3) While I am definitely a dedicated exercise-person, my body strongly prefers to move and groove in the afternoon or evening hours. The idea of even strolling 3 miles at 9 a.m. just lacks any kind of enjoyment for me. And being October, it's chilly out there. And breezy. Brr! (Gazing out the window as the multicolored leaves rustle in the wind...taking another sip of warm beverage...ahhhh...) Finally, the camel's-back-breaking straw, if you will: 4) While you traverse the race route, volunteers lined up along the street (wait for it) throw colored cornstarch at you as you pass, thus covering you in a rainbow of hues by the time you reach the finish line. So let me get this straight: I would be tired...and cold...and people would be chucking stuff at me? Call me crazy, but this does NOT sound like my idea of a good time!

This will be the kids' first experience with an organized 5k of any kind, so I do hope they have a blast. (And who knows, in the future, if there's one closer to home, when the goal is not to coat you in goop, I'll consider making an exception to the whole "anti-morning-workout" thing...) As for me, I'm going to squeeze in one more errand, eat a (solitary, thus undisturbed) lunch, maybe go out for a walk when the temperature warms up a bit more...and get ready to hose off my family when they return!

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

I'll take "4th Grade Math" for $1,000, Alex!

As a parent, you try not to compare your kids...well, not TOO often, anyway. [One exception is the popular Parental Tactic of pointing out desired behavior in one child that you wish the other to emulate. As in: "Look at how your brother picked up all of his clean laundry and put it away (delivered in an upbeat tone). You should do that, too! (encouragingly) Right this minute, as a matter of fact (more firmly, with a Mom Frown). Or no PS3 for the weekend...sweetie! (dripping with honey once more.)] After all, each child is a unique individual, with their own character traits, strengths and weaknesses, and personality quirks. Besides that, they also develop skills at their own pace...so really it's pointless to even discuss the differences in siblings. But, sometimes you just can't help it...

With my boys, there's a 3-year age gap between them, which didn't matter so much until Derek landed in Middle School, while Riley continued his stint in Elementary. I recently chronicled the 7th-grader's bumpy first steps into adolescence, with the (hopefully temporary) memory loss and sudden slide in organizational ability. For all of the frustration and annoyance this has caused, it has also led to a renewed appreciation for the 4th-grader's...scholastic leanings. Allow me to elaborate: On the one hand, Riley can complain with the best of them about having to buckle down and do his homework, and he sometimes tries to get us to believe that Math, in particular, is "too hard". However...he chooses to spend hours at a time creating fictional lineups for imaginary games (baseball, football, whatever he's in the mood for), acting out the contests, and charting the results. That's right, he practices Statistics...for fun...in his spare time. (I know, these words don't make sense to me, either...and I gave birth to him!) And then, one Saturday, he set up a trial with his Hex Bugs (small, battery powered toy creatures that skitter to and fro, somehow providing nearly endless amusement) to find out how long it took them to complete each section of their track. Using paper and a marker, he recorded each test run on a scatter plot...then calculated the mean, median, mode, and range of the data. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is not how 9-year olds are supposed to amuse themselves on the weekend, right? Sheesh....



Fortunately, his nerdling tendencies (and I mean that in only the proudest, most supportive of ways) have thus far carried over into his actual schoolwork as well. Unlike his--ahem--situationally-attention-deprived older brother, Riley has managed to maintain a grip on his daily assignments and longer-range projects. For instance, he just completed one in Math, in which he was required to pose a research question, gather responses from a sample of people, compile the results using an appropriate graphic format, and present all of the information on a well-designed poster. And this he did...all by himself...finishing days ahead of the deadline.

"What's Your Favorite Season?"

So for now, even though I'm not comparing (yeah, right) I'm extremely grateful to have one relatively low-maintenance child--at least in the academic realm...because I probably need to go help the other one locate one of his crucial supplies, or remind him to turn something in, or ask him if anything major is due for credit tomorrow...