Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Ask not what your...former school...can do for you (etc.)

One of a parent's most important tasks is preparing their offspring to one day go out into the Big Wide World as a productive, contributing, responsible citizen. So, at home we do our best to model things like: being cooperative and caring toward others, resolving conflicts appropriately, making sensible decisions, managing time and resources skillfully, and so forth. Then during their school time, they focus on the business of learning about numbers, and books, and history and...scienc-y stuff. At least, that's the way I've always understood it. But the academic realm has evidently changed a bit since I finished my scholastic career. (I know, big shock, right?) Now there's a new requirement for all students hoping to earn a High School Diploma: 75 SSL hours. I'm sure you're thinking: what the heck is an "SSL", and why do you need 75 of those suckers? Well, Student Service Learning hours "combine meaningful service to the community with curriculum-based learning" for the purpose of "improving academic skills by applying what is learned in school to the real world, then reflecting on the experience to reinforce the link between the service and the learning." Whew, does that clear it right up for you, like it did for me?

Anyway, you can begin accumulating SSL hours as soon as you complete 5th grade...but we had no idea what we were doing waaay back then, so midway through 6th grade we're just getting into the game. It turns out--and believe me we're still not entirely sure how this works--that there are many "pre-approved" opportunities to earn credit. For example, Riley's (and Derek's former) Elementary School recently held a Grounds Beautification Day, in which kids and parents could come pull weeds, plant flowers, lay mulch, and other...garden-y things. For doing this, Derek racked up his very first 2 hours of SSL time. (Yes! On our way! 73 to go!) He returned home covered in dirt, proudly waving his filthy Verification Slip duly signed by the Adult in Charge. (Incidentally, Riley participated as well...and got nothing to show for it...except grimy! But he enjoyed himself, supported his school, and bonded with his Dad and brother, so that's very valuable too...) Now all Derek needs to do is write the Reflection paragraph, addressing the questions: What need did your service address? Who benefitted? And (my favorite): What did you learn about yourself? (Ooh! I can answer that one! "I'm a typical boy who loves playing in the mud!" Or perhaps that's not the kind of deep, insightful self-analysis they're looking for...I guess he should do it himself, without Mom's input...)

But his next chance to score some SSL time was even more...recreational. He volunteered to help out at the Elementary School's Spring Carnival. Yes, that's right, he basically received 5 hours of credit...for supervising games and handing out prizes to little kids. Wow. Tough gig, huh? When I picked him up--after his afternoon of strenuous and exhausting activity--he couldn't stop raving about how much fun he'd had, hanging out with his friends who'd showed up to work as well, helping kids win the toys, eating the free food provided by the Parent Coordinators...testing out the huge inflatable slide when no one else was waiting to use it. Now, I'm not in any way suggesting that these educational volunteering experiences should be difficult, or painful...but are they really supposed to be quite so much of a party? And Jeez Louise, I can not WAIT to read what he comes up with for selling this one as a "meaningful community service event." What did this teach you about yourself? That you would welcome a life in the Circus? This oughta be good...

And only 68 more hours to go!

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Of Courts and Kitchens...

You can imagine--in a house with 3 males--that sporting events show up on the TV quite often. Penn State and Ravens football, Orioles baseball, University of Maryland basketball, anything on Fox Soccer Channel...it's a neverending display of sweaty men in uniforms, I tell ya. And the boys even love the commercials, with the chance to ogle cool cars, salivate over junky snack food, and chuckle at silly beer drinkers. However, when I'm sharing the couch with them, I have zero tolerance for advertising breaks. I have a quick trigger finger on the Recall button, as I would much rather catch a few minutes of an alternate show while waiting for the action on the field or court to recommence. And my go-to station? Why, Food Network, of course! Thus my sons have been exposed to such gems as Worst Cooks in America (which makes them howl with laughter over the poor, inept contestants as they attempt to successfully perform such complex tasks as...boiling water and dicing vegetables), Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives (which causes them to drool with envy at the delectable dishes Guy gets to chow down), and Chopped. (More on this, stay tuned...)

While they used to make fun of me for watching so many cooking shows, I suspected that they had begun to secretly enjoy our little side trips to the all-things-food-channel. (What was my first clue? When an episode of Triple-D ended, and Derek immediately requested permission to continue viewing the next one...okay, so maybe it wasn't such a secret after all...) Which led us to this weekend, in front of the NCAA Tournament, focused for hours on the very tall young men dribbling and shooting--that is, for a few seconds at a time, between the seemingly continuous parade of timeouts and TV interruptions. So, we ended up spending a lot of quality time rooting for a different set of competitors: the talented, ambitious Chefs on Chopped. We eagerly anticipated the moment they opened their baskets, so we could see what crazy ingredients they'd have to incorporate into their dish (Baby octopi...huckleberries...yucca? These are items we will NOT be eating for dinner anytime soon!) We marveled at the concoctions they created. We argued with the judges about their nit-picky criticisms. (Derek: "who cares what the 'plating' looks like? It's food! Eat it already and tell us how it tastes!") We predicted who would be eliminated from each round. And we picked a family favorite that we cheered for to walk away with the Grand Prize and Chopped Champion title. (Yeah, we're Cooking Show Dorks.)

In fact, the kitchen battle was so heated and riveting, at one point Riley protested, "No! Don't switch back; I want to the see who's staying!" As it turned out, we didn't care so much about who won that particular basketball contest (my bracket being a mess by now, anyway), but the girl we supported on Chopped walked away with the victory. By far the funniest thing, though, happened a little later when the boys were getting ready for bed. Suddenly Derek popped into my room, a gleeful grin plastering his face, and announced, "Tomorrow morning, Riley and I are going to give you four mystery ingredients and 30 minutes to come up with a breakfast entree! You'll be judged on presentation, taste, and creativity!" Then he paused for a moment and remembered to add helpfully, "You'll have full use of the pantry and refrigerator!" Oh. My. Goodness. Someone's been memorizing Ted Allen's schtick...not only that, but I'm under considerable pressure to come up with an exciting meal (at a time of day when I'm not functioning at my utmost--unless the kind judges will allow me to have my coffee first) and...I could be chopped! (Wait, does that absolve me from all future food preparation responsibilities? Hey...maybe I'll just..."accidentally"...present something hideously inedible! Let's see what we have available: olives and Nutella and sesame crackers and applesauce. The clock starts now, GO!)

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Honey (doo-doo doo doo-doo) ah, sugar sugar...

Sometimes being an adult can mean loads of fun and freedom--like when you eat popcorn for lunch (because no one else is home to raise their eyebrows at your questionable nutritional choice), or when you stay up late to finish watching a silly movie (just because Bradley Cooper happens to be in it, and there's even a slight possibility he might take his shirt off). But other times, of course, you have to suck it up and do the responsible thing...like getting a Physical because you're trying to be a grownup about the fact that you're aging, and any day now a myriad of things could start breaking down, rendering you a pathetic quivering shell of your former, hale and hearty self. (Too much? Yeah, probably. I like to skip directly to "worst case scenario" so I can receive my actual results with a sense of relief and gratitude.)

So anyway, I went to see my doctor for the whole charming "paper gown interlude", complete with the checking of vital signs and the visual examination and the poking in the arm with a needle to draw blood for tests. Although it's supremely undignified to converse with another human being while wearing a disposable napkin, I felt that the in-office stuff nevertheless went well. Then a few days later the lab work had been processed, and someone called to discuss it with me. But instead of a nurse just reading the results right away, I got the long pause, and an ominous "let me transfer you to the technician". Uh oh. That's never good, right? It turns out that my cholesterol, Vitamin D, and fasting glucose were all fine. (Whoo hoo!) But I showed elevated levels of some mysterious substance called "Hemoglobin a1c". Oh no, not that! I'm doomed! (Hand on forehead, sagging dramatically as if to...swoon...) Hold on a minute--I have no earthly idea what that means. (Short-circuit the panic attack...for the moment...)

According to the voice on the other end of the phone, it puts me at risk for developing Diabetes. Now, all kidding aside, the very D-word strikes a chord of fear in my bones, as there is a pretty strong family tendency towards it, on my mother's side. The lady further explained that I should monitor my sugar intake, and my carbs, and also visit this certain website that would guide me in making dietary changes. Okay...I'm a little stunned by these revelations (nah, I'm having a full-blown internal freak-out, yet hiding it well...so far), but I dutifully follow up by checking out the recommended website. And the first thing that's mentioned--and the second, and the third, and the fourth--is how important it is for people with Diabetes to lose weight and increase their physical activity. Um...now I'm just pissed off. I follow a vegetarian diet, weigh what I should, and exercise six days a week, so this is not exactly what you'd call helpful or insightful information for me, personally. Speaking of which, besides the stupid family gene-thingie: Why. The. H-E-C-K...should I even be at risk for this? Digging around a little more, I found...absolutely nothing specific in terms of explanations regarding sugar and carb intake, or suggestions for managing my diet in such a way as to reduce my overall blood sugar by the time I go back in for a retest.

So, short of consulting a nutritionist (which I might do anyway, 'cuz what could it hurt?) I started pondering ways to eliminate some sugar from my daily food regime. Well, where should I begin? Oh yeah, when I wake up in the morning I grab a Dove chocolate (One small, wrapped piece! Don't judge!) while setting up the coffee pot. Why? Um...I suppose it cancels out the morning breath while I wait for my java? (I realize now that this is a terrible habit, but honestly I never even thought about it, until I caught myself cringing in shame while admitting it on paper...I mean on-screen. Okay, that's one habitual behavior out the window. Feeling more virtuous and less sugar-fied already! Onward!) Then I drink my coffee...with cream and sugar. And if I have to give up either of those things, I'll quit the coffee too, because I do not love black, bitter brew. Hmmm, it seems my morning packs quite a bit of sweetness into it, and I haven't even left the house yet! Then there's the banana I eat later for a snack, with (gazing at floor, mumbling into hand)...Nutella. Ouch. I'm a bonafide walking sugar bomb, and I didn't even have the first clue! And I haven't even mentioned the cookie or muffin I sometimes buy at work as an afternoon pick-me-up...or the bonus Dove chocolate I pop into my mouth when I get home, to reward myself for...having worked so hard. Or the after-dinner dessert, since it seems a good time to have a little something sweet to end the day. Holy White Crystal Overload, Batman! I have some serious cleansing to do! (And that's just the stuff I actually know I'm ingesting, much less the hidden sugar in foods that come in boxes...where I don't read the labels...I'm getting a severe sugar shock just thinking about this...)

Yeah, so if you happen to encounter me in the next few days or weeks, and I seem...cranky....or out-of-sorts...or I suddenly frisk you to in search of some leftover Easter candy in your pockets...don't be alarmed. I'm sure once the glucose works its way out of my system I'll have wicked cravings for broccoli and carrots, and the world will be safe once again! Just, whatever you do, however much I beg, do NOT offer me a cupcake!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Hiatus in Hanover

The college where I work has their Spring Break this week, which means I get to enjoy a short, much-appreciated (if unfortunately unpaid) vacation from my out-of-the-house job. I always have a long To-Do List, of course, but I also try to set aside one day if possible to take a Photo Road Trip. The only constraints are: the destination must be an outdoorsy-type place, preferably with significant walking-around possibilities, and it should lie within about an hour's driving time, so I can get there, see what there is to see, and get back before Derek arrives home from school at 3. I live in the greater Baltimore/Washington Metropolitan area, so this should be a piece of cake, right? Except that, having roamed fairly extensively in a 60-mile-wide circle for the past several years, I'm running out of inspiration for new places to explore. Expecting temperatures around 80-degrees--in MARCH, unheard of--I racked my brain for a suitable excursion. After scouring tourism websites, I finally decided on Hanover, Pennsylvania....proud home of Snyder's Pretzels and Utz Potato Chips! No, no, that's not the reason. It seems there was a Civil War clash that took place there, one day before the epic Battle of Gettysburg. The Hanover Chamber of Commerce promised a Walking Tour that would explain it all, allowing me to uncover the importance of this tiny town's impact on the history of our nation. (The official information did not mention whether there would be tasty, locally-produced snack foods to sample, but one can always hope, right?)

As a bonus, traveling to the borough of Hanover would take me on a non-highway route, one which I had never followed before. So, armed (ha!) with a water bottle, my trusty Nikon, and directions, I turned the Subaru north toward the Mason-Dixon Line. And commenced a long trek through what can only be described as "farm country". Now, I grew up in rural Maryland, not far from the county I was experiencing (that would be Carroll County, for the curious)...but I had no clue it was this vast, undeveloped area dotted with grazing livestock and working farms. Huh. Anyway, when I cruised into Hanover, the first order of business was to locate the Chamber of Commerce building and procure the necessary brochure to complete my Walking Tour. Approaching one of the two ladies behind the counter, I politely inquired as to where I should begin my journey. They stared at me blankly. Uh oh....not a good sign. After an uncomfortable silence, one of them finally brightened and chirped, "Oh! The pamphlet's over there, on the rack on the wall!" She seemed relived to have come up with the answer. I was not encouraged. Opening the fold-out page, I gazed at the small, simple map to orient myself. "So, it looks like I go out to the right?" I aimed at one of the ladies. "Oh, I don't know, I've never taken the tour," she laughed. Reaaaaaally. How very...useful...to visitors of your fair township. I had only one last question, having driven over an hour and drunk a large amount of water on the way: "Could I use the restroom?" She appeared slightly startled as she asserted, "It's not for the public!" I couldn't help myself--I glanced around to determine if a marauding band of the unwashed masses had snuck in behind me and was threatening to disturb the peace...but no, it was still just...me. Gosh, do you think you could you be any less helpful or welcoming? As though she were reading my mind (or maybe my astonished expression at the ridiculousness of the situation) she hastily added, "Maybe the library? It's a block away!" And she did NOT, in fact, offer me any refreshments. Hanover hospitality = fail!

Honestly, it didn't get a whole lot more exciting or educational from there. The significance of Hanover in the Civil War, according to my leaflet, is that "one of the reasons General Robert E. Lee failed to gain victory at Gettysburg might have been the unplanned encounter at Hanover." Because some of the Union and Confederate forces met and engaged in Hanover, taking up almost an entire day in conflict, reinforcements meant to assist Lee at Gettysburg were delayed and unable to support him. That's pretty interesting, as is the description of the various sites located around Hanover. However, none of the historical landmarks were preserved. All that remains at each spot is a sign that describes what happened and what it used to look like. That's it. Houses, and stores, and in some cases mini-marts have replaced the structures that told the story of Hanover and its part in the War Between the States. As someone who enjoys and respects history, I found this unutterably sad. Furthermore, I didn't even manage to stumble onto all of the places listed on the flyer, (and I was paying attention, trust me) so it's even possible that some of the signs don't exist.

In terms of an enlightening historical field trip, this one was definitely a major bust. But on the upside, I did get to spend several hours meandering around on foot, in the sunshine and balmy breeze, visiting a town I'd never seen before (or, let's be real, am ever likely to wander into again). What I came away with was a study in contrasts. On the one hand, there are gorgeous antique houses, with plaques denoting when they were built--many of them in the late 1800s. Then there are condemned buildings, empty storefronts, and shady-looking businesses. There's a huge, stately, impressive Performing Arts Center and a grand old stone Library. And rowhouses with paint peeling away in strips and crumbling front porches. If this is what counts as the "heartland"...it's sadly in need of CPR. (Thankfully, there is a Hospital nearby, but I didn't get close enough to gauge its condition).

Having marched from one end of town to the other, there was nothing left to do but retrieve my car and start off for home. Perhaps I didn't gain any further understanding about our country's tragic Civil War, but at least I got some exercise, a whole lot of sunshiny-Vitamin D, and a renewed respect for the critical importance of a strong Historical Preservation Society!



Monday, March 12, 2012

Fun with...Rocks!

"We are crevice-jumping-monkey-butts!" Riley declared, at one point during our Sunday afternoon spent leaping about on rocks. And with that gleeful-yet-succinct proclamation, he neatly summed up our family outing to Catoctin Mountain Park. Husband had initiated this one, noting that the forecast boasted a high temperature of about 60 degrees--generally unheard-of in the fickle month of March around here, when Old Man Winter usually seems to be trying his best to keep us in his icy clutches. The boys had been hiking at this location before, leaving me at home that day to bask in the silence and peacefulness of an empty house. But they had enjoyed it so much that they wanted to return, and this time I was not going to miss it. So we packed snacks (enough for a small army...or Derek), water bottles, and layers of clothing, and set out westward into the wilderness...okay, not really--it was just an hour away...but whew, once you get past Frederick, it does feel a bit like you're leaving "civilization" behind! Navigating through the forest on a twisty, hilly road effectively set the nature-hike mood. That is, until you reach the Visitor's Center with its touch-screen informational map and full-service bathrooms (essential before tromping off into the woods, if you've drunk an entire water bottle on the drive...hey, I was just pre-hydrating, what can I say? Oh yeah, I know: "thank goodness for indoor plumbing"!)

On their previous trip, the boys had visited Chimney Rock, which they highly recommended and wanted to show me. That critical decision having been made, off into the woods we went. The trail began with a rocky, straight-uphill section...good for warming up? (In case you couldn't tell, that's special Hiking Code for "panting heavily, and experiencing a delightful hamstring-burn".) Derek and Riley charged up the path like hyperactive mountain-goats...on caffeine...while Husband and I set a more leisurely pace and chuckled at their antics. Then we came to the first landmark, Wolf Rock. Well, it's actually a huge mound of boulders, jumbled together like some enormous granite-lego-set, pieced together by a young giant with poor spatial skills. You can pick your way upwards fairly easily, placing your hands and feet strategically on the stones for leverage. Now, I'm not typically much of a climber, but this was well within my abilities. Your reward, of course, is the stunning view when you reach the flat top of the outcropping. And if you're anything like my nutball children, you can vault across the chasms between the rocks, to go out further and higher. Just. Don't. Look. Down. (Yes, that was my mantra. It seemed more positive and less wimpy than "Just don't slip and break your neck". Although that's valuable advice, too...) Anyway, since I'm...less adventurous...(Or more cautious? Possessing a healthy sense of fear and self-preservation? All of the above?) I chose not to risk life and limb like the boys. In fact, I couldn't even watch them at times as they nimbly and confidently skipped over the rock pile.

Having survived this initial rock-scaling diversion intact, we next set our sights for Chimney Rock. And I have to say: well worth the walk. Once you make your way to the higher points, you're treated to a breathtaking panoramic view of the Catoctin Valley. You can sit and relax and soak in the vista...or you can seek out crevasses big enough to crawl through, and interesting ledges to investigate, and mysterious overhangs to figure out. One guess as to which option my family selected? After we'd had our fill of exploring the granite-and-quartz landscape, we headed back to the trail to finish our loop. (Not a moment too soon, as Riley--the youngest and shortest-legged member of Team WestEnders--had expressed his increasing fatigue...and Derek had already inquired as to whether "snack time" was imminent.) It was only when we re-entered the Visitor's Center (to use the facilities again, naturally) that we actually checked the map and realized that we had chosen the 3.8 mile hike, designated as "strenuous". Whoo-hoo! (I'm so glad we noticed that after we had finished!) So there you have it: that's what counts as a nice Sunday walk in the park for Husband, me...and the crevice-jumping-monkey-butts!






Saturday, March 10, 2012

green thumb at last? (fingers crossed!)

Growing up on the untamed frontier known as...Rural Maryland, I experienced the joys of cultivating the land, of watching seedlings sprout from the soil and grow to fruition, of reaping the bountiful harvest and savoring the tasty rewards for my labor. Nah, I'm just kidding! That was a big old bunch of...hooey....if I do say so myself. Let me tell you what really happened: my mother planted a garden in our backyard, with corn and zucchinis and cucumbers and green beans and tomatoes. Then she assigned her Field Crew (you guessed it: that would be... me) to weed the little buggers--I mean delightful vegetables--and pick them when they were ready for the dinner table.

And did I appreciate my first foray into this hands-on horticultural haven? Oh, sure, I totally loved the whole "communing with nature" thing, which in this case meant: sweating in the Summer sun; plucking at stupid sticker-bushes that insisted upon hiding near the roots of the beans, especially; swatting at the pesky flies that buzzed around my head. Yeah, what else would a pre-teen girl rather be doing with her school vacation? (Was that sarcastic enough? Should I have laid it on just a bit thicker?) My poor mother had to put up with my grumbling and whining every single time she sentenced me to Weeding Detail...but I have to say, when the zucchini crop inevitably exploded into baskets and buckets and bushels full of the little green guys, I certainly adored the endless loaves of zucchini bread that came out of it (as well as fried zucchini, and zucchini parmesan, and...whatever else you can think of to make out of squash.)

So, those are my...roots, if you will (sorry!) in the world of wild flora. I wouldn't say a strong--or even a particularly positive--relationship developed between me and the good old Plant Kingdom. In fact, when I moved out on my own, I learned to shun greenery of any kind. I had discovered very quickly that I had no aptitude whatsoever for tending even the simplest, least-needy houseplant. Anything that came within my reach would suffer a stem-shriveling, leaf-dropping death in a shockingly short period of time. It didn't matter what I did--water, don't water, fertilize, starve, place in a sunny window, shade from any semblance of light whatsoever--they all succumbed to the same fate. (I came to think of it as the Curse of the Cucumber, from all that complaining I did around the garden in my youth. Or Karmic Corn Consequences? Okay, I promise I'll stop...for now, at least...) And then for a while it didn't matter anyway, since apparently when you have a frisky feline in the house, leafy objects are simply prey, meant for stalking, and pouncing, and shredding. After a few incidents where friends brought us lovely potted plants as housewarming gifts, only to have our beloved cat hasten their demise in a very violent manner, we gave up on the idea of creating our own little indoor arboretum for the time being.

However...now the cat has moved on to another home, and we are finally free to nurture some nature inside the house. Given my poor track record, I decided I should definitely start small. (And, needless to say, inexpensive!) Just one miniature tabletop plant, of a variety that requires little direct sunlight (since it will reside in the center of the room, away from the windows) or care, or attention, or...special skills of any sort. (I actually laid it all out there for the lady at the nursery--confessing my inadequacies without shame. "Okay, here it is: I basically need a plant that raises itself." Bless her, she didn't judge--merely pointed me toward a hardy specimen and answered my silly questions about how not to murder it. Now that I think about it, I don't even know what kind it is...after all, I may not have it long enough to learn what it's called. Wait, that's just a defeatist attitude. So forget that, this leafy guy and I are bonding. I'm going out on a limb (ha!) and naming it...Charlie! (Wish him good luck, he's gonna need it.)

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Animal, Vegetable, or...a little of both?

I've been following a (mostly) vegetarian diet for almost four years, now, with no regrets. (I say "mostly" because I do occasionally eat shellfish, crustaceans...and tuna--don't ask me why, I just still enjoy the sea creatures. Incidentally, would you believe there's actually a word for fish-eating vegetarians? It's pescetarian. But that to me sounds like a rare, incurable disease, so I prefer not to refer to myself that way...and inspire misplaced pity!) My family pretty much uncomplainingly goes with the meat-free-flow, as long as I don't go too many days in a row without serving up some dead animal for their dinner. (Although Derek, exercising his smart-aleck Middle School mouth, increasingly looks for opportunities to mock my pro-plant, anti-animal stance. Naturally, tofu is his favorite target. What did soybeans ever do to him?)


Anyway, I've suspected for some time now that Riley harbors at least a semi-vegetarian inside, just waiting to spring free. For example, when we go to Chipotle, and Derek makes sure to order a burrito approximately the size of his head, stuffed to bursting with steak, Riley asks for: a salad. And at Panera, Derek salivates over the turkey sandwich with bacon, while Riley requests...tomato soup in a bread bowl. Just yesterday, Riley skidded into the house after school and called out, "Mom, can I have some carrots for a snack?" Of course you can, bunny--I mean honey. "Oh, thank you, Mom!" he replied with gushing enthusiasm. Riley's the one who gets positively giddy when I put out a bowl of grapes for him to snack on....Derek eats them because, well, because they're food, and they're available, and he's (perpetually) hungry. If I left out a big pile of, say, hotdogs, Derek would eat that just the same (and probably ask for more when he was done...)

So last night was one of those "carnivore meals", when Husband cooked (beef) burgers on the grill. Afterwards, Riley complained to me that he didn't feel well. What he actually said was, "I don't want to eat cheeseburgers anymore; they give me a stomachache."  This was not the first time he had mentioned the issue after eating ground beef, so I offered, "Next time Dad grills, I'll make sure we have enough veggie burgers for both..." But that's as far as he let me get before interrupting with an emphatic, "YES, that's what I want!" Oh--kay, then, my little Boca Buddy, I guess we'll be Black-Bean-Patty-Pals. Never one to just...let a subject drop, or anything, I continued explaining how hamburger comes from cows (he nodded, uncertainly) and that means eating the animal's body. (At this point he made a very strong yuck face, as though this had never occurred to him before...or he'd just never wanted to think about it in those terms, more likely. And really, who would?)

I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as, faced with this unpleasant imagery, Riley started examining the issue a little more deeply. Almost immediately he came up with, "I can give up lunchmeat, I don't like that too much anyway...and hamburgers...and bacon...but some meat is still good." We determined that he enjoys pork chops, and meatloaf (for which I usually buy ground turkey anyway), and the breaded chicken patties from Costco, and ham steaks ("except the hard-to-chew parts" he added. And here I just couldn't help myself--I had to point out that those are most likely bits of...connective tissue. I was rewarded with yet another yuck face. Yes, I admit that was probably a cheap shot, but he'll thank me someday...maybe?) We discussed how alternatives such as peanut butter and jelly or cheese could make excellent lunchbox choices instead of cold-cut-sandwiches. I swear I wasn't trying to gross him out or drag him into my Vegetarian Camp, but it seems like he's drifting a little bit more toward the...let's just go ahead and use the newfangled, PC term Flexitarian side. So, I'm sorry, sweetie! (Okay, not really--what I really mean is: Come Over to the Veg Side...We've Got CARROTS!)

Monday, March 5, 2012

The Winter that...Wasn't

Well...here it is March 4th, and I'm still breathing an extended sigh of relief that once again, February has skated away, off the calendar. Although I must say, this particular February was so exceedingly mild that it more like...slunk away in embarrassment, with its (melted) tail between its legs. Don't get me wrong--I'm generally not one for wishing that the months would pass more quickly than they already do. (Heaven forbid! I'd get even less done!)  It's just that usually, February comprises 28 (or 29--Bonus Winter...sarcastic yay!) days of frigid, dark, damp weather that seem to drag on and on, just when we're all crazy-ready for Spring to get a move on and freakin' show the heck up, already. (Yes, February and I normally have some frosty words with each other, on a regular basis. We are not what you'd call..."close".)

During a typical February, we often suffer the delightful trio of snow, sleet, and freezing rain that make everyday activities like walking and driving...shall we say "an adventure". But this year? We had regular old rain (okay, at times it was downright...torrential); some wind (the lean-into-it kind of gusts that make getting from one place to another count as a workout); but we also had 50 degrees...and 60 degrees...and nary a flake of white or frozen stuff whatsoever. It was almost insulting! Wait a minute, what am I talking about--for February, when my expectations are so low as it is, it was the Best Case Scenario. And I truly do feel badly for the polar bears, up there roaming the Arctic Circle in search of some ice to cling to, while scanning the ever-warmer ocean for a nice fishy meal. I'm not claiming to be a big fan of Global Warming or anything...but I sure did enjoy NOT freezing my own non-fur-covered tushie this Winter.

And now for the Big Confession: for all of you out there still secretly (or openly) crossing your fingers that we'll get a late snowstorm, and some school/work cancellations to accompany it...I think I just might  be at fault for our unseasonably warm Winter Season this year. (It was completely unintentional! I promise!) You see, first I managed to score snow-pants for both boys...in the right size...for 50% off! What a coup! Flush with my success, I next turned my attention to the deficits in my own Waterproof Wardrobe...and found not only a pair of ski-pants for myself (on sale, ridiculously-discounted), but also (wait for it) new boots! (If this sounds like too much celebrating and patting myself on the back for a measly pair of footwear, well, don't get me started on how hard it is to buy shoes that are comfortable enough for my picky feet. Trust me, this was a big deal in my own little world!) But the snowball that broke the--not camel's, obviously--penguin's back (?) if you will, came when I purchased brand new foam-slidey-sled-things for the boys, in anticipation of the hours of fun they would experience in the drift-covered backyard on those Snow Days...

So you see, it's clear that Mother Nature interpreted all of this the wrong way. She believed I was taunting her with my preparations, discrediting her ability to bury us under another round of Snowpocalypse-like conditions. When in reality, I was just trying to ensure that my family and I would be warm and dry, no matter what kind of...stuff...she chose to hurl from the sky. But I guess she showed me!  She apparently decided to pout and withhold the Winter Wonderland for this year. Well, fine! That'll teach me, I suppose..unless she's got something up her sleeve for March...so I'm not packing away that brand-new snow gear just yet!

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Our Own Red Carpet Moment...

When you live in the same community for long enough (13 years now for us), you start noticing hometown symbols that show up repeatedly. For instance, whenever I'm driving around the area, I can instantly spot window decals representing local Elementary Schools. While I'm out running errands, my eyes gravitate toward sweatshirts identifying the wearer as an attendee of one of the nearby High Schools. Or, when stopped at a red light, I have ample time to read (and re-read) bumper stickers proclaiming that the driver's child was a Student of the Month at Derek's Middle School. (And during the remainder of the light cycle, I find myself wondering why on earth you would glue that thing to your car--which you'll presumably continue driving for years--just to trumpet your kid's 30-day recognition?) Well...(c'mon, you had to guess where this is going, right?) I am now the lucky (?) owner of one of those bad boys, as Derek was chosen as a Student of the Month for February. (He is well aware that the sticker is not getting anywhere near my vehicle, and he's perfectly okay with that: "You're not really the bumper sticker type," he mused as I posted it prominently--with magnets--on the refrigerator. Still overflowing with motherly pride...just not damaging my car...)

So he came home with a letter from the Principal, commending his "great personal effort and commitment", applauding his "outstanding work and dedication", and congratulating him on his "positive leadership". Wow...really? Don't get me wrong, he's a great kid, but that's laying it on a bit thick for a 6th-grader, don't you think? I mean, it's not like the equivalent of the Middle School Nobel Prize or anything! Anyway, after oohing and aahing over his being selected for this honor, I quizzed Derek about exactly how he came to be nominated--was it a teacher's recommendation? A specific precipitating event? The aligning of Jupiter with Saturn? He shrugged, "No. Clue." (Alrighty then...well- done anyway, son!) Then he sighed and added, "My friends are teasing me about it." (12-year old boys making fun of a non-sports-related award? Yeah, there's a shocker. Don't let the gooberheads get ya down, buddy!)

The letter further stated that a photographer would be on hand to take the SoMs pictures, for display in the front hallway of the school. I couldn't resist...I just couldn't. (Okay, okay, I didn't even really try, so sue me). As I was tucking him into bed last night--before his big Photo Op--I asked in a sugary-voice, "So, what are you planning to wear for your picture?" He offered his typical, expected response, "I don't know, whatever I pull out of the drawer, I guess." But could I let that go so easily? (Have you met me? Well, maybe not in person ... but you know what I mean!) So of course I continued, "Oooh, I know, your button-down shirt! And khakis! Do you want me to bring up your dress shoes so you don't have to look for them in the morning?" He cut me off with a sharp, "Mom! No!" But it seems as if he actually had the last laugh, since Husband reported that this morning he left the house clothed in: maroon shorts, his traffic-cone-orange-t-shirt, and a crimson sweatshirt. Yep, that's my glowing, sunspot...Student of the Month son. (Whose obnoxious outfit will apparently be screaming at school visitors for the rest of the school year! Someday, maybe it'll work in his favor, when they describe him as "colorful" rather than "a big honking goofball"...)