Saturday, June 30, 2012

It's not a forced march, it's F-U-N!?

I don't know what's got her so riled up, (hole in the ozone? polar ice caps melting? the cost of gasoline?) but for some reason, Mother Nature treated us to a major temper tantrum yesterday. First there was the blazing heat, with moist, uncomfortable high temperatures in the upper 90s and "(Dis)Comfort Index" numbers around 105 or so. (I love it when they tell us that, don't you? Makes it that much more disgusting...) Then around 10:30 p.m. or so, ferocious winds started whipping through the trees, accompanied by deep, rumbling thunder and frequent flashes of lightning. After this exciting prelude, torrents of driving rain began sheeting across the landscape, creating instant rivers that flowed freely through the yards and down our street. Our electricity flickered repeatedly, but gamely remained operational throughout the storm (and let me pause a moment to once again express gratitude for that most amazing of inventions: buried power lines). Naturally, the children slept right through all this and were thus astonished to survey the aftermath when they woke up this morning.

And just what kind of effects did this potent thunderstorm leave in its wake? In our neighborhood, the damage was minimal: heaps of downed branches, a few cracked trees. Across the county, though, 2/3 of the residents had lost their electricity, numerous roads were closed due to fallen-tree blockages, and all of us were under "Mandatory Restrictions" until power could be restored to a large pumping station that supplies the bulk of water to our area. To make matters worse, the rainfall did nothing to staunch the record-breaking heat, which was expected to drive thermometers over 100 degrees today. (With the Heat + Humidity adding up to...I just don't even wanna know...what does it matter once you reach triple digits, anyway? They should just call it..."sticky and stifling" and leave it at that. Because trust me, we don't enjoy that Southwest phenomenon of "dry heat" in the good old Mid-Atlantic region...)

With all this in mind, Husband and I both had the same idea--to go for an early hike, somewhere very shady, before it got too hot to breathe. Thinking that our usual preferred, nearby trails might be muddy and/or impassable after last night's deluge, I voted for a paved option. So after our coffee and light breakfast, we aimed for a local lake to take a nice, easy Nature Walk. As we left our own neighborhood, we noticed more evidence of Weather Gone Wild--stoplights darkened, fences toppled, trees broken, shingles stripped. And when we reached the park...both the entrance road and the trailhead were barricaded. (Probably should have seen that coming, huh?) Okay, we're nothing if not resourceful...here comes Plan B. We turned the car around to go to another lake close by--and found that street taken over by construction equipment, as workers prepared to remove an enormous--yes, you guessed it--TREE stretching across the entire roadway. But were we defeated? Were we discouraged? In the face of such odds, (and most likely signs that we should be rational and just go home, for crying out loud) we resolutely, doggedly (foolishly) formulated Plan C...or D, at this point, I don't even know...whatever, the point is: we refused to give up!

So, one last-ditch attempt brought us to a Nature Center...where the access road was...what? Yes, closed due to yet another tree casualty. However, we were able to at least reach a parking area and get to the woods on foot. Success! We quickly discovered that the trail itself resembled less of a groomed path, and more of a...tangled maze of shredded vegetation and mucky puddles. Yaaaay! But we were determined to have a Pleasant. Family. Hike, gosh darn it! So we proceeded to scramble over twisted piles of tree limbs and tiptoe around the deepest mud pits. And when necessary based on unscaleable mounds of debris, we abandoned the marked route entirely for a span, in order to plow through aggressively overgrown bramble bushes before rejoining the more sedate walking trail. All the while, we did manage to enjoy our Team WestEnders bonding time. And thanks to our new GPS watch, we found out that our little stroll in the woods measured 4.6 miles, completed in about 2 hours. Better yet, even the smallest of us (that would still be Riley, for now) suffered no difficulty whatsoever in completing the workout, or keeping up with the pace.

What's the takeaway lesson from Storm Walk 2012? (You mean, besides the glaringly obvious fact that venturing into the forest after near-hurricane-strength winds might not be the most brilliant of notions?) We now can feel confident that for the remainder of this Summer, no 5-mile trek is beyond our reach. We can search parks and trails all over our area and know that--given enough water and a granola bar or two--we can conquer whatever the Great Outdoors throws in our direction...even if we have to resort to Plan...Z...

Monday, June 25, 2012

Montpelier

Having just weathered a week that was brimming with rollercoaster emotions and exhausting events, I was never more grateful for the quiet and solitude of an empty house. Also, with the boys on their annual South Carolina visit, frolicking on the beach, eating themselves silly, and being spoiled by their paternal grandparents, I was free to plan my own yearly Solo Educational Overnight Field Trip. Since I’d recently checked off several presidential estates in Virginia (Mt. Vernon, Monticello), I decided to complete the M-trio and hit Montpelier, former home of James and Dolley Madison.

So off I drove, into the Southland, where I was treated to lovely views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, lush green hills…and many, many cows. And horses. Maybe a few goats thrown in for good measure. Yes sirree, this was what you’d call “Farm Country”. Upon arrival, I of course had to watch the informational video before touring the grounds (I suppose, technically, it’s not required, but who wants to miss all that learning…and whatnot?) For example, did you know that James Madison was considered the Father of the Constitution? (Don’t worry, neither did I, before the film. See? Good stuff!) He researched political theory and forms of government for months before presenting his ideas to the Constitutional Convention. (A fellow…nerd…after my own heart!) He served two terms as Secretary of State while his friend Thomas Jefferson was the Chief Executive, then two terms of his own as our 4th President. During his time in office, the young United States battled the British in the War of 1812, which tested whether our democratic system and the personal freedoms established by the Constitution and Bill of Rights could withstand a conflict situation. (They did…pshew! Otherwise we might be answering to Queen Elizabeth and drinking afternoon tea with crumpets and wearing funny hats…) And Dolley herself was much more than just a fashionable, entertaining hostess. She reportedly displayed her own sparkling wit and sharp intelligence, and is credited with establishing the modern role of the First Lady. (Okay, AND she had pretty dresses.)

The Montpelier mansion itself belonged to the Madison family for generations before James and Dolley used it. Its architecture follows the Federalist style of the period, with similar features to Jefferson’s Monticello…blah blah blah. Honestly, I made it through two rooms of the inside-the-house tour before bailing. It was a gorgeous day outside, and I don’t care that Mrs. Madison enjoyed cards (see a set over there!) or that Mr. Madison collected artwork (Look! A painting of George Washington! zzzzz…) I instead chose to wander out onto the grounds, where I immediately spotted evidence of the Presidential Paradox I’ve come to expect: yet another leader of our country—the man who fought for religious freedom and citizens’ rights, for crying out loud—owned over a hundred slaves himself. All over the grounds, you could see remains or reconstructions of the house slaves’ quarters and the artisans’ lodgings and the field hands’ rooms. Funny how the ideals of liberty and equality only applied to the rich white plantation owners, right? Oy.

But I did have a chance to meander through a charming flower garden, and stop by the cemetery where both James and Dolley are buried, and take a stroll in a forest preserve, beneath the shade of towering, century-old trees. All quite enjoyable. (Oddly enough, I stumbled across a small plot where—I kid you not—a couple of HORSES are buried. Jeesh, what is it with Virginians and their equine pals? At the end of the day, I got a satisfying dose of history and a pleasantly-scenic-and-tiring hike…and as a bonus, I finished up under blackly-threatening skies, amid frequent growls of thunder…about ten minutes before the storm hit. Win!

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Possibly the best misheard line...EVER

After my mom's funeral service we needed to travel to a faraway cemetery, where she wanted to be buried next to her own parents. So that everyone didn't have to try to stick together in a caravan for the extended trek, my dad reserved a limo for some of us. Now, this limo supposedly could carry 10 people comfortably. "No problem," we thought--there was my dad, my sister, my brother and sister-in-law, my two nephews and niece, a buddy of my brother's, my mom's oldest friend, one of my cousins, and me. Keep in mind, three of these bodies were children, not full-sized...yet there we were, squished together shoulder-to-shoulder in that thing, making for a very...up-close-and-personal ride. And did I mention loooooong?

But that meant we did have a LOT of opportunity to chat, and enjoy each other's company. As time passed, though, you could tell the situation was getting a bit wearisome,and that people were becoming just a tad punchy. During the conversation my oldest nephew--who happened to be sitting at my dad's feet at the very back of the car--wanted to know why we called my mom's girlfriend "aunt" when she wasn't technically related to us. My sister deftly handled the explanation, explaining that we spent a lot of time with her, and that our families had shared vacations together, and gathered for holidays and birthdays...at which point my father, who on the best of days tends to blurt out whatever springs to mind, without sending it through any kind of internal filter whatsoever, added, "drunken orgies..."

I was seated at the front, near the driver, as far away as possible within the confines of the vehicle, and I heard him absolutely loud and clear. The reaction was animated and instantaneous, with about half the listeners slapping their foreheads and shaking their heads, and half of us yelling at him to watch his comments around the children, for heaven's sake. (Yeah, that was primarily his own kids, who are completely used to this kind of thing, but feel the need to chastise him anyway. That's the way it goes: Dad says something inappropriate, we scold him, and the dialogue continues as if nothing happened. Just our unique Family Conversational Dynamic...sigh...) Anyway, he earned his self-satisfied snicker at the reaction of everyone around him, but when it quieted down again after a second or two, my nephew--a puzzled frown creasing his round, spectacled face--piped up in confusion:  "What? Dunking...oranges?"

Yesssss, that's exactly what Pop-Pop said, little man! Although he seemed to want clarification, and continued to glance around for someone to enlighten him, we were all too caught up in hilarity to help him the poor guy out. And so there you have it, an innocent mistake becomes instant, precious Family Lore. (My own boys missed this incident themselves, so I will say it for them to mark our own WestEnders family tradition: "Dunking Oranges is an awesome name for a band!")

Friday, June 22, 2012

Once More About My Mom...


This is what I wrote for my mother's funeral and delivered during the service.  

Certain things about my mom would strike people immediately when they met her. The red hair—pardon me, auburn, as she would sternly correct anyone (including us) who got that wrong. The twinkling blue eyes. The ready smile and easy laugh. If you were fortunate enough to spend some more time with her, you’d undoubtedly experience her warmth and kindness, for as our family used to affectionately tease, “The woman never met a stranger.” And if you happened to hang out with our family often enough, inevitably you’d eventually be treated to the patented, dreaded, Mom Glare. She bestowed these for such infractions as: terrible puns (Dad), dinner table stories of--ahem--questionable taste (Jeanne) or general rambunctious misbehavior (one guess…Dan). [It’s possible I may have earned one or two myself, but I can’t remember the reasons, so I’ll just move on…]

Now, I have to be honest—I didn’t always fully appreciate my mother, who had some very definite ideas…about everything. Such as: I remember a turbulent period in elementary school when she tried to enforce a “no pants, only skirts” rule, I guess to try and mold me into a proper little lady, or something. Yeah, that one didn’t stick. Or when she modeled frugal money management…by clipping coupons…and trading bags of them with the neighbors. I think even Dad snickered and rolled his eyes at the Mid County Drive Extreme Couponing Club. We used to joke that Mom could “pinch a penny until it screamed”. But you know what? Absolutely everything I learned about recognizing the value of a dollar, and saving, and budgeting…I got from her. She took her parenting job seriously, striving to impart critical life lessons to us kids. Most of the time she managed to lead quietly by example, and demonstrate what she wanted my siblings and me to know…all the while tolerating our smart-aleck attitudes to make sure we absorbed the important stuff.

Other things were more readily understandable, even to my young self. Mom placed a lot of importance on education. She wanted her kids to do well in school, and beamed with pride when we showed her a good grade (and she praised every single thing I ever wrote…even if it stunk, God bless her). I like to think my own lifelong thirst for knowledge started with her and Dad. (That’s right, they made me the nerd you all still know today.) Mom didn’t go to college, but figured out how to have a rewarding career in the Health Department and take care of her family, too…decades ago, when that wasn’t so commonplace. I can’t promise I was paying close attention at the time, but right in front of me was a role model for how to achieve a successful profession, tend to a husband and kids, and still make a mean chocolate chip cookie. (Luckily she passed that skill on to me, too!)

In absolutely everything she did, her nurturing personality came through. Someone need a shoulder? There was Mom. Words of advice? Check. Just a sandwich? Sure. And that’s really what lay at the heart of my mom: a deep, passionate desire to take care of people. My sister and brother and I grew up and forged our own paths, but no matter what steps we would take or how far away we’d roam, we would always come back to gather around my mom, the center and soul of our family. With spouses, and some kids of our own, we’d flock to the love, comfort, and joy showered on us at her house. Even in the last few years, with her declining health and increasing pain, she continued to be a beacon for us all, guiding us with her wisdom, delighting us with her humor…and yes, glaring us into submission when necessary.

Her passing leaves an unfillable hole in our lives. But I’m grateful that my mom can now experience well-deserved peace, and rest, instead of suffering. Words cannot begin to express how much we will all miss her. But I have no doubt whatsoever that she’s watching us, waiting with a mischievous grin and a big warm hug, ready for the day we can all be together again…and someone had better remember to bring the chocolate chip cookies!



Tuesday, June 19, 2012

A Few Words About Mom...

After putting up an epic fight in the face of one health crisis after another for the past 16 years, my mother's fragile body finally lost the battle of wills with her nearly indomitable spirit yesterday. She made an impression on everyone she ever met, with her (sometimes-sharp) humor, enveloping warmth, and generous dose of Irish feistiness. (Apple: tree...yeah, I've been called my mother's daughter, in both admiration and exasperation...) Right up to the end, she managed to employ two of her best weapons to great effect: the impish twinkle in her blue eyes...and the steely glower that seemed to magically modify whoever's actions happened to be displeasing her at the moment. (Trust me, no one--spouse, offspring...hospital staff--was exempted from, or immune to, that potent expression!)


Her passing leaves a hole in our family which can obviously never be filled. But a personality like hers, overflowing as it was with love and laughter, leaves behind joyful memories that will help sustain us in the difficult days to come. Such as: yearly family vacations to Ocean City in my youth, where I developed my lifelong affair with the beach. (Despite my resistant-to-tanning, freckle-prone Irish complexion, like Mom's...) Or Friday Night Pizza Fests, which began as a way to ensure that their busy teenager (yeah, me) arrived home for 10 minutes and shoveled in some food after field hockey practice, before racing back to the High School to watch the Varsity football game. Of course there are things that were not particularly amusing at the time, but years later benefit from some distance and perspective...like the fact that my mom forced me to help with the backyard garden by weeding and picking veggies when they were ripe...I H-A-T-E-D that job back then, but maybe it helped plant the seeds (ha! pun intended!) for my healthy vegetarian lifestyle now? (Definitely score one for Mom!)


Then there's the over-the-top Holiday Fairy side to my mother that none of us will ever forget. The way she decorated for every occasion, big or small--if it had a name on the calendar, it was good enough for special placemats and a centerpiece on the table. (And a Stupid. Singing. Chicken. Never did figure out what that was all about...or how to surreptitiously get rid of it...) There were the hearts for Valentine's Day and the shamrocks for St. Patrick's Day and the bunnies for Easter and the stars and stripes for Memorial Day/Flag Day/July4th/Labor Day, and the pumpkins for Halloween and the turkeys for Thanksgiving. And don't even get me started on Christmas. I learned from Mom the proper way to fully celebrate the Yuletide season. She would commence listening to carols and begin decking the halls the day after Thanksgiving. The tree--procured after much tromping through the cold, muddy woods complaining about her pickiness until she identified the "perfect" one--would be bedazzled to within an inch of its life with sparkly ornaments and tinsel...lots and LOTS of tinsel. (Which incidentally we also whined about, as she demanded we hang those...charming...strands one at a time...yeah, right. That glittery little ritual inevitably ended with us throwing handfuls at the tree, and each other...good times!) The house would be transformed into a Winter Wonderland overnight. And no matter how old we (or later, the grandchildren) got, she insisted on labeling presents under the tree from "Santa". We might have shaken our heads and rolled our eyes at some of the hoopla from time to time, but we secretly delighted in the fact that she was, hands-down, the biggest, giddiest kid of us all.


But what I think my own kids will remember best, and most fondly, are the extended-family dinners. My mom cooked elaborate feasts for birthdays and holidays, and seemed to view them as a way to feed us with a little (okay a LOT of) extra love and attention. Derek absolutely adored Thanksgiving with all the turkey and trimmings--and he was even more pleased that since it was my Dad's favorite, too, we got a bonus presentation in October for Pop-Pop's birthday. Riley was partial to the pancake-and-sausage bonanza on Christmas morning after all the presents had been opened. No one's flapjacks ever satisfied him quite like Grammy's. At these gatherings, my mother sat--or stirred at the stove--acting as a calm center in the storm of 5 cousins running amok, concentrating on the task at hand, but with that glint in her eye that let us know she was also somehow enjoying the melee. (Even when she was compelled to utilize the Mom Glare to curb someone's...enthusiasm. I modeled my own "knock it the heck off right this minute" look on hers, and man, is it powerful!)


For such a strong and special woman, who'd survived so many other, more serious hits over the years, it's ridiculous that something as commonplace as a broken arm led to her eventual decline. It was heart-wrenching, watching her suffer in the hospital for the last month and a half. And although she left us much too early, she had beyond a doubt earned peace, and comfort, and rest. For me, of course, it's utterly impossible to explain or give adequate credit for how much she shaped the person I am...from "how to save your allowance" to "making the perfect chocolate chip cookies"...and everything in between. But I'm also very grateful that my children had a chance to know their Grammy, and that we made it to the hospital in time for them to say goodbye to her. Before we went, Riley came quietly into my room and said, "I want to take Grammy one of my stuffed animals, so she can always remember me." As I sniffled and hugged him close, he continued, "I'll send Blue Bear, since I've had him the longest, and that'll remind her of me the most."


So even amidst our grief right now, I'm consoled by the picture of my Mom, restored to her healthy and vibrant self, drinking iced tea her preferred way (heaps of sugar), relaxing under an umbrella someplace nice and warm (she'd have a sweater close by, just in case), cackling it up with her own mother and Aunt Renie...with Blue Bear by her side. And I just know that no matter what, she'll continue to gaze down on us with either her big infectious grin of approval...or the dreaded Frown of Doom. We will miss you, Mom, and we'll do our best to behave! (Okay, at least right after the Singing Chicken "mysteriously disappears"...)





Thursday, June 14, 2012

And it's only Day 2...

Ah, Summer: freedom from piles of homework, time-sensitive schedules, jam-packed agendas, and heavy responsibilities. Time to breathe and unwind, yes? So yesterday, to properly mark and celebrate the boys' first full day of liberty in Summer 2012...we ran errands. In our defense, the pressing item on our To-Do List was "buy the kids new shoes" which is critical if you're going to spend your long daylight hours romping around outside, chasing soccer balls and whatnot. As an active person myself, I can attest that proper cushioning and fit help you to achieve your fitness goals blah blah blah...oh, who am I kidding? What we really needed to acquire was some footwear in which the soles are not separating from the mesh uppers (Riley)...or your toes are not banging against the front (Derek Boat Feet). Besides, a trip to Sports Authority is like...visiting Disney World, to a couple of tween boys. (Ooh, lacrosse sticks! Look, awesome jerseys! Mom, can we have...NO! Okay, more like the Magic Kingdom...with a spending limit!)

Not that purchasing shoes is ever a straightforward, simple task with these two. Rather, it's a minefield to be navigated, by a mother who completely agrees that they should find "cool looking sneakers" (the girl in me absolutely gets this) but also 100% refuses to pay for an expensive pair that they're either going to destroy or outgrow in approximately 3 months time. You can imagine in a popular sporting goods store stuffed with Under Armour and Adidas and New Balance and their equally famous and high-priced kin...that narrows down the field of potential choices quite a bit. (I'm striving to impress upon Derek that being "frugal" is an admirable and desirable trait...but I sense it's only a matter of time before he moves from lightly sighing at my cost-restrictions...to outright calling me "cheap". Eh, it's not his money, right?) Anyway, Riley found an appealing-to-all-parties pair of Nikes fairly quickly, but Derek proved to be more challenging. It turned out, Derek's overgrown appendages couldn't be accommodated any more by the children's section. That's right, we had to venture into strange and frightening new territory: Men's Shoes. Yikes! And just to make things a bit more difficult, once we found an acceptably-priced pair that satisfied his wish for "brightly colored" (don't ask me why, I've got no idea)...they didn't have his size in stock. Sigh. (Guess who did, though? Amazon, of all places! Click, they're on their way...)

After that borderline-traumatic retail experience, we sought to restore our spirits and energy...by eating lunch "out" somewhere. (It's our cure-all, have you noticed?) Naturally, the boys voted for California Tortilla. (Don't they know I eat there often? Oh, that's right, I hide that fact from them...) This time when I approached the counter, my favorite perky employee chirped, "Hi, Johna, veggie nachos for you today?" (Oh. Good. Grief. Now she remembers my name AND my most-recent order--so much for concealing my little habit from the kids!) While we ate, Derek wanted to know, "What are we doing tomorrow?" "Staying home with Dad," I replied, "but that brings up an interesting topic I need to discuss with you two. There are a couple of days this Summer that both Dad and I have to go to work, and you'll be on your own for a few hours." Derek's response was instantaneous and unsettling: a huge, mischievous grin and a gleeful, "The house will be in ruins!" (I'm almost certain he was joking...I'll just keep repeating that to myself...) Riley reacted a little differently: "I don't want to be left alone! I might do something wrong!" I rushed to reassure him, "Really, the hardest thing you guys will have to do is feed yourselves!" Again, Derek quickly jumped in, "Yessss, CalTort!" To which I retorted, "Ha! You don't have any cash!" (Because that's the major deterring factor, not that it's a mile-and-a-half from our house, along a busy thoroughfare...) Undaunted, Derek came back with, "I can take money from your bank account!" I had this one, too, though, as I smugly pointed out: "You don't even know how." But, never one to concede the last word, he finished with, "Right. Could you leave instructions?"

All-in-all, it was an eventful start to our Summer. Now all I have to do is impress upon them the importance of using their new footgear to frolic in our own yard...NOT venture forth into the Big Wide World in search of meals (Or an ATM machine. Oy.) You think the threat of "being grounded for the entire rest of your vacation" should do the trick? Or perhaps "remaining inside until you finish every last assignment in your Summer Math and Reading packets?" Let's keep our fingers crossed it doesn't come to that...

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

From School...to the Pool

Phewwwwwwww. In case you were wondering, that was a huge exhale, signaling the blessed end of the school year at last. That's right, the final lunches have been packed, the final Homework Planner entries have been signed, the final tests and assignments have been completed (as far as I know, at least...eh, too late to do anything about it now!) And now, it's all about unwinding and enjoying the Summer Life. (Well, for the next 10 weeks, anyway...or until the novelty wears off, whichever comes first. But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves!)

For Derek, it seems the finale couldn't have come quickly enough. He handled the daily grind of expectations and responsibilities that accompany Middle School, but he's certainly not upset to be rid of them for a nice long grace period. And now of course he can proudly say he survived his first, crucial "transition year" into the new system...with minimal damage to either his self-esteem or Grade Point Average, as far as we can tell. Even if I'd thought to ask him, I'm not entirely sure what his goals for the Summer would be. At this early point in the vacation period, I imagine he'd favor me with a glazed, slack-jawed stare and mumble something typically informative and expressive for a 12-year old boy being prompted to think critically in his off-hours...maybe something along the lines of "um...I dunno." Knowing him as I do, though, I suspect his informal agenda includes nothing more than the essentials: catching up on sleep, playing video games, practicing sports in the back yard, hanging out at the pool...oh, and eating as much and as often as Mom will condone.

Riley, on the other hand, greeted me this morning when I went in to nudge him out of bed with the surprising statement, "I don't want this to be the last day of school." (I'm sorry, whaaaaat? I casually leaned over to inspect him more closely, just in case he'd been switched during the night with some kind of alien...nerd child. Oh wait, that IS my little nerdling. Never mind.) He continued, "Now the only way I can see my friends is at playdates. I'd rather be in school, learning with my friends every day!" (Sniffle...I'm so pleased that he even threw in the "learning" part...so at least he's a Nerdy... Social Butterfly, I guess? Hey, a phrase springs to mind--something to do with an apple, and a tree...) To be honest, I was very gratified to hear him talking about missing school, given the rough way he started 3rd grade. It was a long, sometimes teary (him, not me), occasionally clingy (Riley again), periodically frustrating (okay, this one got both of us) journey from "I don't want to leave you and go to school" to "I'm gonna miss that place". I might not have noticed it while embroiled in the day-to-day chaos--I mean "completely controlled, organized schedule"--of the academic year, but now I suppose it's obvious that my baby grew up a bit over these last 10 months.

Well, I would have to conclude that we've ALL earned ourselves a nice stretch of good old resting and relaxing. (Yes, me too...who do you think assembled all those dang meals, stayed on top of assorted due dates, sent in an endless stream of money and permission slips, and assisted with projects of all kinds? Heck, I feel like I just successfully completed 3rd and 6th grades! Yay, me!) So...if you need us for anything, check the back yard, where we'll be lounging in the hammock, sipping cool drinks, basking in the sunshine and inhaling the fresh air. Of course you're welcome to join us...would you mind bringing some watermelon on your way out? Aaaahhhh.....

Thursday, June 7, 2012

This will go down on your permanent record! (Not!)

Hang on for possibly (probably? hopefully!) the last "school story" of this academic year. But first, let me provide a quick smidge of background. (Naturally. What, you thought you could escape it? Hah! You really should know better by now...) Growing up, I was what you'd call a...dedicated student. Hard worker, teacher-pleaser, trouble-avoider all described me to a T. (Okay, I was a total brown-nosing, top-grade-getting...dweeb. There, ya happy?) I can't remember a time in all my years of education when I did anything objectionable enough to require discipline, much less earn myself a trip to the Principal's Office. In fact, the very idea struck deep dread into my little student heart and kept me firmly on the straight and narrow. (In retrospect, I don't know exactly why I feared Administrators so much--they always were kindly, sympathetic people. What did I expect them to do to rule-breakers, hold them down and force-feed them cafeteria food? Whack their fingers with textbooks? Oh wait, this was public school, so that was strictly forbidden...I guess I just had a vivid (if erroneous) mental picture of the torture I would endure, enough to deter me from pursuing a life of rebellious behavior...)

Nowadays, as I recently became aware, things run a bit differently in the halls of learning. Take my juvenile delinquent son Derek, for example. As I leafed through his binder the other day looking for papers addressed to Parent (which he often neglects to give me, hence the Search and Retrieve Operation), I happened upon an incriminating little half-sheet of paper--right in front, no attempt to hide it at all--with the title "Lunch Detention". "Um...precious son of mine? Would you mind explaining this to me?" I calmly but sternly requested...as I fixed him with my most potent Mom Glare. He at least had the presence of mind to turn ever-so-slightly pink when confronted with this evidence of his (supposed) nefarious activity. Here's how he described the incident, which occurred in Study Hall:

"Well, our friend Meg got placed in Algebra for next year, and when Alan heard that, he didn't know what it meant. So he said, 'Al...what? Altoids? Aren't those what our bus driver has with him on the dashboard?' And I said to him, 'Not Altoids, you dork, Algebra!' That's when we got Lunch Detention."

I tried to maintain my disapproval by continuing to stare him down mercilessly...but I just couldn't. A snicker escaped me as I asked in disbelief, "That's what counts as 'excessive talking' these days?" (That was the explanatory box checked on the slip. I guess they didn't have a write-in option for "excessive gooberheadedness" or better yet "being 12-year old boys"). Knowing he was off the hook (and almost disturbingly unabashed by all aspects of it--his Study Hall foul, his punishment, and his getting nabbed by Mom) he grinned back at me...and breezily admitted that this is, in fact, NOT the first time he's been slapped with Lunch Detention...for "excessive talking". And what, no phone call home? No holding the threat of Parental Retribution over kids' heads to keep them in line? Jeesh! So what did I learn from this charming experience? Well, I guess these days, it takes more of a serious screw-up to trigger the truly Dire Consequences. And also it seems that "what happens in Middle School, stays in Middle School!" (Unless you check the backpack!)

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Burrito Elito...Secreto?

Okay, in the midst of an overall not very humorous week, here's a little incident that made me laugh...albeit sheepishly. (That still counts, right? If you're equal parts amused and embarrassed? Hey, that's kind of the story of my life...so this should go along nicely...) Anyway, I'd been running around like a crazy person (a.k.a. "in my usual fashion"...wait, does that mean I'm calling myself insane? Eh, some shoes fit better than others, I suppose...) all morning without much breakfast fuel, so when I finished up around 1 p.m. I was starrrrrrrving. (You know when people standing near you can hear your stomach rumbling? Like that.) And, having successfully completed my errands, I decided I'd earned myself a yummy lunch--from somewhere other than my own fridge. (But honestly, even if I hadn't finished my list, I would have rewarded myself...I'm not that tough a judge. And did I mention how hungry I was?)

Now, we as a family don't dine out very often, preparing and eating most meals at home. But when we do treat ourselves, we have certain places we tend to return to over and over. California Tortilla is one of those restaurants. In fact (and this is a big secret, so work with me here and keep it under wraps) I might be seen dropping in there by myself on the occasional weekday when everyone else is off doing their work and school thing. (This next point's relevance will become clear shortly.) Our town is not very big, and we've lived here a long time by now, so after a while you start to get acquainted with, say, the friendly grocery store manager (George), or the helpful clerk at the toy store (Beth). But somehow, in my mind, it never occurred to me that maybe they remembered me as well (Who, me? I don't have a nametag! Or a special shirt! I'm Anonymous Mom Shopper, yes? Apparently, no.) So here's an actual conversation that transpired when I strolled into California Tortilla today to order some long-overdue and much-needed food:

Cashier "Dee" greets me with a beaming smile, as she always does. (I swear she must camp out there, since every time I go, she takes my order...I'm not quite sure what that says about either of us...)
Me: "I'd like nachos, please." (one of the standard 4 menu items I rotate between on a consistent basis, depending on my mood.)
"Dee" (with an expression of playful shock): "Johna, I'm surprised!"

I would venture to say, however, that she wasn't nearly as "surprised" as I was. Let's pause here to reflect on the "What. The. Heck" factor: the clerk at CalTort addresses me by name. And pronounces it correctly. And evidently is familiar enough with my preferred choices to jokingly offer her opinion. At this point I felt like I should explain how famished I was, and maybe defend my decision to opt for the gooey, crunchy nachos rather than the salad. But I was too stunned. So we just shared a light chuckle and moved on...

Me (suddenly remembering to clarify): "Make that veggie nachos, please!"
"Dee" (with a conspiratorial grin and a slight shake of her head): "Oh, I know."

Good heavens. It was like my own personal Norm Moment...except I suppose it's preferable to show up regularly at a vegetarian-friendly, trans-fat-free, healthy-possibility restaurant...than a bar? It's just that, I feel like my Clandestine Lunchtime Habit has been exposed. I already guiltily dispose of the telltale soda cup before the kids arrive home from school, so they won't guess where I've been ("without them" being the part that would get me in trouble). Now if someday we all walk in there and "Dee" acts like I'm a special customer, I'll never hear the end of it. You think a hat and sunglasses would serve to disguise my identity enough? I've got to go undercover, or Derek will demand retribution...in burritos, no doubt!

Monday, June 4, 2012

A Medical Minefield!

Let me kick off today's strange tale by stating very firmly how fortunate and grateful I feel to have a strong, healthy family. I mean, this past Winter we managed to somehow slide through without anyone even getting sick (knocking wood). And as for me, I honestly can't recall the last time I suffered a cold, or anything worse (knocking wood...with both hands). But, evidently our days of flying under the Germ Radar have skidded to an abrupt and unpleasant end. The Universal Manager of Maladies (I picture a small nerdy scientist-guy with a clipboard, checking off those who have recently suffered an ailment and making sure the numbers stay in balance...but that's just my overactive imagination) suddenly noticed that we've been severely lagging in shouldering our fair share of medical complaints. So they decided to both restore equilibrium...and apparently have a little fun at the same time. I could just hear the shifty little guy (because, c'mon, it MUST be a dude, right?) thinking about what to do..."Should I send a cold? Nah, too mundane. A sinus infection? Eh, been there, done that. Wait, I've got it! Let's hit her with an unsightly, uncomfortable, unexplainable infection...of the jaw! (Did you catch the evil snickering? Yeah, me too...)

So, out of the clear blue, I wake up one day with one side of my face swollen, tender, and discolored. What. The. HECK? I swear it looked like I'd either lost a major boxing match in my sleep...or been bitten by one majorly pissed-off, poisonous spider. Deee-lightful. And sooooo very attractive as well! Now, I'm normally a stoic, "humph, who needs doctors?" kind of girl, so in this case, I gave it 24 hours to just wait and see what developed...and when it appeared to be increasing in both size and discomfort the next day, I hastily made an appointment. The doctor examined it quizzically, drew blood to test for various things, and proclaimed it (ready for this?) a "mumps-like infection". Reeeealllly? Honestly, I got the feeling he was just slapping a label on to placate me--like a definitive diagnosis might prevent me from exercising my need to freak out in his office. He explained that the lab work might give us more answers, but in the meantime, we'd throw an antibiotic at it and hope that would relieve the symptoms. At this point any treatment plan sounded like a step in the right direction, so I readily agreed to give it a try.

Then I discovered the only real downside that I've encountered so far to being a generally robust person who rarely even takes an aspirin: my body did NOT react well to this powerful antibiotic the doctor prescribed. How, you ask? Try "a freight train rumbling through my insides." Also, to manage the throbbing ache of this stupid...whatever...I was popping pain relievers like they were bon bons. Ibuprofen, acetaminophen, migraine formula, however much I could swallow, as often as I was allowed, according to the microscopically-written label. (Oh, that was supposed to be a 2? I saw a 3, oh well, what could it hurt...) And I added probiotic pills to the cocktail to try and make things happier in the old gut region. Oh yeah, and periodically I uncurled from a ball for 2 minutes to warm a microwaveable heating pad and place it gently on my face for a half-hour or so. Yep, that was my rockin' Saturday. I think we'd all agree that I was a hot mess. To encapsulate how miserable it truly was, I missed both my sons' soccer games. I know, gasp! Let me tell ya, that's about as bad off as I ever get. (Knocking wood yet again, not taunting the  Microbe Police, believe me!)

Luckily, by Sunday the medicine seemed to be making some headway and the area appeared to be improving a little. And my digestive system had either decided to adjust to the unfamiliar substance, or the lactobacilli-mabobs had already done their job to restore peace and order. I was feeling normal enough to have my approximately once-quarterly french fry craving, so there you have it. Meanwhile, as I set my feet tentatively on the road to recovery...Husband has mowed the lawn on Saturday afternoon and picked up his regularly-scheduled case of poison ivy. And Riley woke up Sunday morning with red, goopy, itchy eyes that just screamed "Conjunctivitis". (A trip to the clinic confirmed this and got him started on some drops. Why not? What's one more prescription for our Countertop Pharmacy?) So basically, Derek (who requested that he be mentioned in this post, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with him) represents the only member of Team WestEnders to have successfully avoided the wrath of the Illness Fairy this weekend. But on the plus side, we've acquired a veritable Arsenal of Pharmaceuticals that we will employ in attacking the unwelcome invaders until they go the heck away and leave us alone. So there! Now have we earned our popsicles for good behavior?