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...

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Say Cheese!

I've been a shutterbug since the first time I picked up my Mom's little Instamatic, sometime in the 70s, and took over the photo-snapping duties at some family gathering or another. I don't think I ever gave that thing back, either. It had those funny rectangular flash attachments that you clicked into the top of the camera, and every time you took a picture, one of the bulbs would pop, until they were all used up and you replaced it with a fresh one. (So primitive...so NOT cost-effective...so environmentally irresponsible...but it was hip at the time...right up there with velvet blazers and, apparently, shiny dress shirts...oh, Dad...sigh.) I pretty quickly figured out that not only was it loads of fun to capture the action on film (the potential for goofy or embarrassing shots being oh-so-high back in the old-school "every frame gets printed no matter how stupid you look...or how much your thumb is blocking the viewfinder" days), but also you got to tell people what to do...and they actually obeyed you! "Go stand over there, straighten your shoulders, now smiiiilllle!" I'm sure it made me absolutely giddy with power.



Instamatic: Mom and Dad, sporting their disco-era finery
Eventually I grew up a bit, hoarded my high-school babysitting money, and chose my first 35-mm: a Ricoh with a separate telephoto lens and a detachable flash unit that you had to slide into its socket--AND remember to turn on--when you wanted to utilize it. I lugged that thing absolutely everywhere, for over 20 years, as a matter of fact, until I finally dropped it--not the first slip, but as it turned out, the final one--on some concrete while shooting Fall foliage at a nearby lake. I mourned a little...but the brief sadness quickly gave way to rejoicing, because now I had a perfectly legitimate reason to buy a brand new camera! Whoo hoo!
Ricoh: the Roman Coliseum, circa 1991
But I found myself facing a dilemma--the entire Universe had converted to digital technology, film was fast becoming an anachronism...what was an old-fashioned photography buff to do? After much soul-searching, wringing of hands, pulling of hair (okay, maybe not those last two) I decided I just couldn't convert yet--at least not 100%--and went with a film-style Nikon. And it produces beautiful images...especially when the subject remains perfectly still....like a beachscape or a nice, cooperative...mountain. However, when someone--your son, for instance--is sprinting up and down a soccer field, or climbing a tree, or leaping into a swimming pool...not so much. Thus I ended up with a second Nikon, of the digital variety, and so patted myself on the back for fully entering the Modern Age of Photography.
Nikon N65: Harper's Ferry, WV
Or at least that's what I blissfully went about believing...until we were at the final Orioles home game a few weeks ago and I was busily clicking away with my little Coolpix to chronicle our fun day at the stadium...and a guy behind us (older than me, I should note...indignantly!) chuckled and quipped, "What's that thing in her hand?" I stopped for a moment, temporarily at a loss, then noticed that all around me, my fellow fans were also taking pictures....with their iPhones or whatever other "smart" device they had. Ahhhhh, I get it. Now, I could do that, too, but the results are much better when I use my "real camera"...because I get them printed, rather than just instantly uploading them to Facebook...oh, never mind, I'll admit I'm a dinosaur in this particular case--and I own it. At least I'm a photo-snob, artistic throwback, right? (RIGHT? I'll pretend you all agree with me. Thank you...)
Coolpix: Billy Goat Trail
And really, if you want to feel old and out of touch, who better to help you than your children, yeah? Case in point: the other day Derek, my beloved 7th grader, queried me out of the blue, "Hey, Mom, do you have an Instagram account?" "Um...noooo?" I answered. (Unsure if this was the acceptable response or not, which was made abundantly clear by his follow-up...) With perfect seriousness, and not one ounce of irony whatsoever, he asked, "Why not? (pause) Don't you want to be cool?" Oh...dear. Of course I do! Dang it, now that's something else I have to figure out (mutter grumble sputter). So at my earliest convenience (the next day--no sense putting off these troublesome tasks--I mean "valuable learning experiences") I applied myself to my phone to master the App. (Which incidentally should have taken approximately 10 seconds, but was made infinitely more challenging by the fact that Google for some reason stubbornly insisted that I was using my previous phone. No wonder I attempted to download 6 times, yet never could find the stupid program. Ah, technology. It's okay; I eventually won.) And now I can say (with pride? chagrin? relief? clearly I have mixed feelings at this point...) that I have joined the Instagram World. Something else to play with...when my Nikon(s) is/are at home!
Instagram: immediate gratification!

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Fall? Already?

Just this week I noticed the trees around here beginning to display their Autumn wardrobe of reds, oranges, and yellows. When I went running this evening on a wooded path in a nearby park, I even found myself crunching some of the first-fallen leaves under my sneakers. And when I finished my 3 miles, at only about 6:30 or so, the afternoon light had noticeably begun to fade away into dusk, earlier than I've become accustomed to at this point. What does all this mean? I need to finally let go of the last few clinging shreds of my Summer mentality, and finally accept that Fall is here to stay. (Mid-October, not a moment too soon, right?)

The unscheduled days of July and August are long gone, replaced by "get up, get ready, get out the door" routines for school and work. An agenda completely devoid of responsibility has given way to Math homework and Spanish review and Reading assignments and take-home Science experiments. Free-for-all pickup football games in the neighborhood have taken a backseat to (two teams' worth of) soccer practices and matches. And all of this is hunky-dory--I mean, sure, it happens every year, right about this time, as a matter of fact, so we really ought to see it coming--I think it's just the whole "losing daylight" thing that bums me out a little. And of course the "decreasing temperatures", which leads to the yearly dilemma of "I despise feeling cold...yet I also dislike wearing a coat...or gloves...or a scarf...and a hat is just RIGHT out of the question". (Thus my annual declaration: I swear I'm moving to Southern California one of these days...)

So yeah, everyone in our family seems to get a bit sluggish while we work out the change-of-season kinks. But on the other hand, we cheer ourselves up with some of the treasures that Fall brings: pumpkin spice lattes (okay, that's just me); tart and juicy apples; Postseason baseball (including, for once, our O-R-I-O-L-E-S)...and in just a few more weeks, the promise of Halloween candy. For that, I'll concede to switching the clocks back...and putting on a warm sweater!

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Let's Go, Os! (stomp stomp clap)

I was raised by a rabid Orioles fan (and Colts, but shhhh--we don't talk about that painful subject). My father grew up in Baltimore, and could reminisce enthusiastically, knowledgeably--and at length--about the graceful fielding of Brooks Robinson, the powerful hitting of Boog Powell, or the masterful pitching of Jim Palmer. He experienced firsthand the thrill of following a talented team's season-long campaign, all the way from Opening Day in chilly early-April, to the Pennant Race in crisp late-September. He celebrated the World Series wins in '66 and '70, and lamented the near-misses in '71 and '79. That's right about where I started paying attention, unfortunately, as I will forever have a serious loathing for the &%$# tune "We Are Family", originally by Sister Sledge, but corrupted by the Pittsburgh Pirates as their theme song that year. To this day, hearing it nauseates me. But I digress...

On the other hand, I was lucky enough to grow up during the Ripken Era, marveling at the Iron Man's overwhelming respect for the game, love of playing, and work ethic that defied understanding. I clearly recall watching the '83 Fall Classic with my Dad, and feeling overjoyed not only with the victory, but also with the selection of my favorite player--feisty, fun-loving catcher Rick Dempsey--as Series MVP.  My family never made the hour-long drive to Baltimore to watch a game in person, as my parents pretty much symbolized the idea of "homebodies." But...when I happened to attend Loyola College...in Charm City...within walking-distance of old Memorial Stadium (okay, it was a loooong stroll, through some sketchy neighborhoods, but we were young and foolish, so we did it anyway), I learned what it meant to bask in the ballpark atmosphere. (Ahem, even though at the concrete giant that was Memorial Stadium, this generally meant "greasy hotdogs, watered-down soda, and sloshed, vociferously profane Upper Deck denizens".  Ah, good times...)

Then the Orioles moved into their swanky new digs at Camden Yards, and we had a jewel-of-a-ballpark in which to cheer on our team. As an adult, I had the means and motivation to get to games whenever the spirit moved me--hour-long drive be darned! Husband (then Boyfriend) and I were in the stands for Playoff games in '96 and '97, bundled against the Fall nighttime air, unable to even talk to each other over the noise of a jammed-to-the-rafters stadium screaming its collective lungs out for the Os. It was mayhem. It was exhilarating. Who could have predicted at the time that it would be the absolute end of the Orioles contending...or even posting a winning record...for a decade-and-a-half? Suddenly the loyal constituency of Birdland had to come to grips with a team that year after year finished in the cellar of the American League East. 20 games under .500, 30 games...it got to the point where even those of us with Orange and Black in our blood couldn't bear to watch. Sometimes I gave up by the All-Star Break, and just quit paying attention for the rest of the pathetic season. Team WestEnders still made the trek to the Yard on occasion, more for the nostalgia of the still-beautiful stadium and the longing for a live game, than any actual interest in the Os down on the field.

Husband and I even dutifully introduced our kids to the glory of the American Pastime, and tried to drum up interest in the Baltimore nine. The boys happily scarfed down soft pretzels and drank cold lemonade and did their best to root for the home team...but eventually even their youthful idealism was beaten down by the endless futility of losing. It saddened me, but I couldn't blame them--not when I myself had trouble rah-rah-ing for the last-place Os. And then, finally, at long last, out of nowhere stormed the 2012 Orioles. Now, keep in mind, this is a club that has not once posted a winning record since before my kids were born, so forgive us if we approached the early success of the season with a little--make that a huge heaping keg of--skepticism. "We'll just see what happens," we cautiously repeated...in April...and May...and June...and July...and, well, you get the picture. It felt alien to us to actually set aside time after dinner to sit down and view the games together...to hold lively discussions about various players' stats...to look up the scores and standings every day lest we miss anything. Even into late Summer, though, it still seemed too fragile a thing, this "Oriole Magic" to truly believe. I think I finally realized I'd given in when we were on vacation in Mexico...and checking the SportsCenter ticker (in Spanish, no less) each morning to see what had transpired in the AL East in our absence. This collection of mostly no-names that wasn't even supposed to be relevant-- much less good--just kept rolling along, pulling out wins in one-run contests, putting away an astonishing number of extra-inning victories, climbing into the unfamiliar "over .500" territory and staying there, even with a negative Run Differential that left Sports Experts scratching their heads. It was improbable, if not downright impossible, by all rational explanation...but yeah, we're in, make space for us on the bandwagon...

The four of us, along with a group of friends, went to the very last home game of the season at Camden Yards. On a bright, sunny, coolish Sunday, the stands were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with animated, energized fans. There was supportive yelling after every strike from our pitcher. There was a huge roar after a base hit...a home run...or even just a long fly ball that might have a chance to go out. It was like Playoff adrenaline, and it was amazing. So the boys got the whole package: crunchy chicken tenders, icy root beer, memorable souvenirs, and a fantastic game--which the Os incidentally won. Whatever happens from here on out in the Postseason, I'd have to say we are one satisfied, newly-excited family of Os fans. Now excuse me,  the Wild Card game is in full swing, Os vs Rangers, and I've gotta go check the score...

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The Runaway Boy Brain...

I'm sure this will come as quite a shock to those who know me (go ahead, brace yourselves), but I loooooved my School Days. (Pausing for sarcastic laughter to subside...) I thrived on learning new things, I lived to give correct answers, and I thrilled to receive Report Cards filled with good grades. (Yes, I was a geek...before there was even a word for it.) But I had no idea if any of this would rub off on my own children when it came time for them to leap into the academic world. Was my Inner Type-A Scholar genetically transferable? Would I need to painstakingly teach good scholastic habits? Up to now, I've considered myself very lucky that my sons seemed to be developing into fine, upstanding students. (Maybe it's due to all the repeated beating-them-over-the-head with "the importance of education" and "our high parental expectations for success" and "the value of putting forth your best effort" blah blah blah...On second thought, maybe we should lighten the heck up a little bit, before they crack from the strain and decide to run away and live in the school-free wilderness with Gypsies...) Anyway...I do sometimes get a bit of grumbling related to the amount and complexity of homework, or a few complaints about a particular subject that may not be so much fun to study. But by-and-large, the work gets done, the quality is acceptable, and the grades reflect appropriate progress and mastery.

Sooooo, just when I settled into a comfortable rhythm, thinking Team WestEnders was functioning like a well-oiled machine, the proverbial School Bus hit a speed bump in the First Quarter Road. Actually, a couple of bounces...more like a bunch of potholes, and the bus is pounding through them, flinging the passengers wildly about...oh, never mind. Let me explain: in a nutshell, 7th Grade is thus far kicking Derek's...butt. Now, we were warned by various parental friends--who themselves have older children--that the 7th Grade year for some unknown reason offers a whole collection of challenges to overcome. Derek also heard this informally from neighborhood kids who had weathered Middle School already, so it's accurate to say that we felt somewhat informed about the....onslaught? However, what I failed to factor into my School Management Paradigm for this year was Derek's new adolescent hormonal situation. It appears that whatever...male...stuff...is currently floating through his body and brain negatively affects his higher-order cognitive skills. That is, such basic-yet-crucial operations as: decision-making, problem-solving, planning, organization, critical-thinking...and even attention. These areas have never posed a problem of any kind for Derek in the past, but suddenly he's a different boy...one who drifts around in a kind of mental fog, utilizing extremely filtered "selective hearing", forgetting things immediately after you've told him, making uncharacteristically poor choices, demonstrating a sudden lack of impulse control...OY.

The boy who diligently, continuously handled his own school responsibilities last year abruptly vanished, to be replaced by a scatterbrained individual who instead, in the space of a couple of short weeks, did all of the following:
--came home one day and anxiously announced he had to make a model of a cell...and he needed me to go out and obtain modeling clay..."for tomorrow!"
--took advantage of every minute of his allowed video game time over the weekend, then dug out his backpack on Sunday night and seemed utterly astonished at the amount of homework he had avoided to that point, and still needed to accomplish before bedtime.
--spent an unusual amount of time after school in his room one day later that week, reading intently. When I interrupted to tell him to go to bed, he admitted that the book was due...tomorrow. I stared at him with a complete lack of comprehension: "You mean to tell me, all those hours you were playing PS3, or checking scores on your iTouch, or...just goofing off...you could have been working on your assignment?" (Can you just hear my voice rising in both volume and pitch toward the end of that rhetorical question?) After I railed at him for squandering his time and leaving the important task for the last minute, I imposed the first ever Electronics Ban--and also allowed him to stay up a little late and finish the doggone book. (And trust me, that particular punishment reeeealllly hit hard, as Derek--in order to have any video game stimulation at all--was reduced to watching over his brother's shoulder as Riley amused himself with his 3DS. Derek hated every minute of it...and will remember for next time, I'll wager...unless the Preteen Brain Freeze is still in effect...sigh...)

Clearly, the updated school routine is going to require a return to more stringent Parental Oversight...at least until his faculties--I don't know, calm down? kick back into gear? That should happen by the time he goes away to college, right? Until then, we're buckling up...