Sunday, December 29, 2013

More "research"

Whew, the final day of our first...Carolina Relocation Recon involved a smorgasbord of activities--neighborhood stalking (I mean "searching"), rival university bashing (um, "sightseeing"), and local pizza-dive testing (yes,"eating"). Since it was pouring in the morning (the nerve! but actually I'm not complaining, as it was still 50*) we set out with a map and an agenda: to motor through one more as-yet-unexplored section of Chapel Hill and get a sense of whether we liked both the houses and the general area. As we meandered up and down streets, peering with a critical eye at the homes, yards, and whatever else we could see from behind the car windows and through the raindrops, Husband at one point commented, "This one doesn't speak to me." Derek immediately howled with laughter from the back seat and shot back, "Geez, Dad, now you're starting to sound just like Mom!" Before I could even gather an outraged breath to defend myself, he continued in a falsely high-pitched, mocking voice, "I don't know, I'm just not feeeeelllling this one..." (What do you think: should I reconsider the brilliant idea of allowing the children to 'help' with this process?) Nevertheless, after we'd scoured the section pretty darn thoroughly, we deemed that our "work" for the day was done, and we could return to Tourist Mode.

In that vein, as threatened--I mean "promised"--we ventured to Durham, to stroll the hallowed...sidewalks...of Duke University. Unlike UNC, which had seemed a bustling hive of energy even on a coed-less day, Duke resembled more of a...ghost town. Very few people looking around, everything shut down, the atmosphere extremely hushed. Of course, that didn't stop us from oohing and aahing (quietly) at all of the stunning architecture. I swear, every building in that place--even the student library--could be a European castle, with soaring stone edifices and stained glass everywhere you turn. Utterly gorgeous. (Derek continues to insist that he'll never, ever go to school there...which is actually a good thing, since Husband and I don't have any desire to shell out the approximately bazillion bucks it would take to pay for his education in Blue-Devil-dom). When we had finished drinking in the academic atmosphere, we decided to check out what  downtown Durham had to offer for dinner...sadly, the answer turned out to be "nothing that appealed". Many places were closed--which struck us as odd on a Sunday evening, unless they were shuttered for the holiday week? The only options were, shall we say, "too frou-frou/expensive/formal for us".

But not to worry, by this time we're feeling pretty darned comfortable in "our town" of Chapel Hill, so we simply headed back to regroup and make the all-important meal decision at the hotel. What we ended up picking was a local pizza chain right next to where we were staying, whose menu I'd grabbed the night we arrived, when I was taking a short walk to stretch my legs after being cooped up in the car all day. The restaurant itself is nothing fancy, but the food proved scrumptious (and HUGE)--beyond what we even expected or hoped. So I'd have to say we ended our mini-vacation on a high note...and we're already scheming about when we can come back down...to catch some more fun stuff we didn't have a chance to get around to this weekend, and to take the house hunting to the next level! Until then, we're gonna have to dig out those gloves again for the next few Northern months. Sigh. How soon 'til Spring Break?

Saturday, December 28, 2013

A little more of the "triangle"

The self-guided tour program continued today, with a little side jaunt to the neighboring town of Durham. The weather was again (not to belabor the point, but it's too novel for us--and delightful--not to mention...repeatedly) predicted to be clear and in the 50s, so we couldn't miss the chance to be outside. (In December! Okay, I'm done...) Specifically, we drove the 14 minutes or so to the head of the American Tobacco Trail, a former railroad line converted for use by walkers, runners, and bikers. It's now wide, paved, and smooth, offering a pleasant place for a family stroll (or, as we prefer to think of it: "earning our lunch"). We entertained ourselves strolling and chatting for a 3-mile loop...leaving ourselves 20 more untouched miles to tackle when we come back...with 2-wheeled vehicles!

Satisfied with our first successful foray into Durham, we headed back to UNC-land--I mean "Chapel Hill"--to check out an eating establishment that looked promising when we'd passed it in our explorations yesterday. Lime has a menu that closely resembles our beloved California Tortilla "up North", which is one point in its favor. But what ultimately sold me on it was the bold proclamation: "Speak Vegetarian? So do we. Just about everything on our menu can be prepared without meat. We will add vegetarian organic beans, guac, cheese, rice or whatever you'd like. We're cool like that." Oh yeah, my people! Also, your meal comes with "bottomless chips" and a fresh salsa bar...it was a small piece of...tasty heaven, I tell ya! The friendly lady who took our order asked if it was our first time visiting, so she could explain the procedures to us or answer any questions we might have. She must have shared the information that we were newbies with the manager, because he personally came over near the end of our (delicious) meal to welcome us...and present a free, hot, just-out-of-the-fryer-crisp order of sopaipillas (which if you're not familiar with this particular treat, is like a Mexican doughnut, rolled in sugar and cinnamon...and mmmmm yummy). Oh yeah, I think we've found our new favorite go-to place when we feel like grabbing lunch in Chapel Hill (that is, if we can even get NEAR the joint when the 40,000 or so students are in residence...we shall see...)

Then it was time for one more charming dinner with Husband's cousin and her spouse. (They keep inviting us over and feeding us--doing their best to perpetuate the neighborly reputation of this state. Who knows, it might be an official North Carolina Statue as well as the "waving" thing...I sure hope they give us a manual to study when we move!) That leaves us one more full day to get into trouble down South--um, "catch any last sights we may have missed so far". Despite my older son's emphatic protests, we might just have to stop by that OTHER campus, you know the one I'm talking about, the one whose mascot rhymes with..."Moo...Levels". I think he's afraid some kind of... angry collegiate sports god...will strike him down, or something, for deliberately encroaching in enemy territory. The rest of us simply aspire to enjoy another scenic excursion on the grounds of a historic, venerated institution, while absorbing some nature, culture, and academic atmosphere. We promise not to flaunt any obvious University of Maryland or Tarheels gear...and to wave to everyone we meet! (You think that'll get us out of there unscathed? Let's hope so...)

Friday, December 27, 2013

A lot of window shopping...

Today's agenda could be summed up as "get down to business"--in which we planned to do our best to get acclimated to the town of Chapel Hill...both on wheels and on foot. First we met with a real estate agent who had been recommended by Husband's cousin. She and I had spoken on the phone before we came down, so she already had formed some idea of what we're looking for in a house, neighborhood, etc. With that information, she chose a select handful of properties to show us, to get feedback and really home in on what we'd like when it comes time to actually purchase something.

The kids were pretty excited about this process, as they obviously hadn't had any say in choosing the house they've lived in up to now. Their enthusiasm translated into an awful lot of running up and down stairs, calling to each other from room to room, and chattering about the various features they approved of...or didn't. Let's just say, they were not afraid to be 100% honest in sharing their opinions and having their preferences noted. ("This yard's too small...eww, the walls are pink...ooh, two staircases!" Uh-huh, they were sooooo helpful...) And really, it was fun--peeking in closets and admiring fancy kitchens and imagining our stuff in a new home. When we parted from the very nice lady, we were all satisfied that we were on the right track in terms of identifying the best area and house for our family's needs. (One note: I wonder if it's a City Ordinance that one must acknowledge every car that passes...because without fail, all pedestrians we drove by raised a friendly hand to wave. Also, I noticed that strangers tend to smile and say 'hello' a LOT more than "up North"...so we might have to work on our social graces, to bring them up to...Southern Hospitality level...)

Then it was "tourist time"; we parked in the center of Chapel Hill and walked the main street, wandering through little shops...and taking note of all the cute restaurants we'll eventually need to sample. I have to say, though, that it got just a wee bit scary after a while, surrounded by hordes--and I'm not even kidding, we're talking crowds of people--all dressed in UNC blue. And these were not college students, who are all away from the school right now on Winter Break...they were families and couples and just random people strolling down the street. I started to think it was some kind of rule (that I was clearly violating) and a special police force would descend on me to ticket my...lack of...baby blueness... Nevertheless, we meandered around the gorgeous campus (we enjoy doing this--makes us feel so much smarter!) Mostly we were just soaking in the 50+ degree weather (in December--yaaaayyyy!) and drinking up the atmosphere. Another funny thing: more than one resident actually apologized for the fact that it was so "cold". (Yeeaahhh....we're walking around without coats...or gloves....so we're feeling pretty good, thanks....)

So, in summary: after a day full of merely scratching the surface of what the area has to offer, we agreed we could definitely see ourselves settling here. That's right, Team WestEnders is officially ready to take the plunge and become...transplanted Carolinians...in T-6 months (or so) and counting...plenty of time to practice our interpersonal skills...and stock up on some light blue clothing!

Virginia is for...sucky traffic!

Whenever we head out on a trip, preparations always follow a predictable pattern. There’s the frantic couple of days of “attacking all the chores I feel I must accomplish before we blow town”. That leads directly to the whirlwind of organizing and packing. During all of this, I operate at an elevated level of tension. (Don’t ask me why, I realize it’s not a life-or-death situation even if we DO forget a toothbrush or (heaven forbid) underwear, because after all, we’re not bound for, like, Siberia, where you can’t buy any more due to the tragic lack of Target stores…but it still causes me to stress out.) Anyway, when all the prearranging work is done, hitting the open road feels like a rush of freedom and happy anticipation. We’re leaving town! We’re going to explore somewhere new, fresh, and exciting! Whoo hoooooo!

However…once in a while, the trail to adventure betrays us in quite a disappointing manner. For example, our drive to Chapel Hill yesterday was nothing short of…a Highway to Hell situation. Oh, sure, it began innocently enough…for about 20 minutes of smooth sailing (um, “driving”). Then, before we even were able to cross the Potomac from Maryland into Virginia, traffic crawled to a standstill. And it remained a veritable freeway-parking-lot for all the stinkin’ miles to Fredericksburg. Now, I’m a very serene, patient person in these situations—hahahahaha, NOT—so I was sitting in the passenger seat absolutely fuming at the utter futility and waste of time involved in this doomed endeavor. (Although I did manage one productive thought: “I wonder how difficult it would be to obtain a helicopter pilot’s license?”)

But I was mostly proud of myself—there was no cursing, no screaming, just relatively minor sighing and the occasional vehement “I am NEVER doing this again!” (Derek, my ultra-calm child, remembers it much more emotionally…but he has little tolerance for dramatic displays, so his filter is a little suspect…) Fortunately, my kids are veteran travelers, so they managed the whole scene with aplomb and remained unflustered. Of course, we finally did arrive, and received our great reward: a gourmet dinner at Husband’s cousin’s house. The meal was an elaborate, delectable affair cooked by her son…and it completely erased the traffic-jam blues.


Now, we’re ready to hit the hay, then hit the ground running tomorrow as we begin to navigate our next hometown! Get ready, Chapel Hill, here we come!

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Christmas, unwrapped

Okay, I'm behind, so this is going to be a...hmm, how shall I put this..."Aaahhh, gotta get this all down before I forget something" kind of post. There, consider yourself warned...

Well, the week leading up to Christmas was quite the anticipation-fest. You see, Derek and I had discussed (well, "negotiated" is more like it...) his "special present" quite some time ago--relating to his iPod Touch, which had taken to behaving in an increasingly erratic fashion. We decided that, rather than replace it, we'd just upgrade him to a smartphone that could accomplish all of the tasks he wanted (basically: texting, watching SportsCenter videos, and playing music and games). As his iPod started kicking him out of apps, refusing to run programs, and basically being a major pain in the tushie, he began eagerly counting down to the big exchange. So, having a free day on the 23rd, I took the opportunity to lock myself in the study and set up his device. What I neglected to think about was that, by activating the new phone...I cancelled the old one...requiring me to then relinquish his gift two full days early. Um, Merry...Pre-Christmas, sweetie! (He was thrilled, so it was worth it...) Then there's Riley...who inherited the unfortunate "impatience gene" from my side of the family. (See, isn't that just soooo admirably honest of me?) A few days before the official gifting occasion, he purposely came all the way upstairs and strolled into my room, simply to point out that it was "the day before Christmas Eve!" (You know, in case I had been...in a cave somewhere...and was therefore caught unawares...how...thoughtful?) In our house, we allow one package to be opened on the 24th, and he was already practically beside himself with pent-up excitement. He did manage to contain himself--barely--and was enchanted with his Kindle when (finally) allowed to rip into the box.

Then on Christmas morning, Derek calmly and methodically unwrapped his surprises...with the exception of the one that his father had found especially for him (at the local drugstore, so you can imagine how very rare and precious it was)...which disrupted the proceedings with uproarious glee. What could have caused such a reaction? Picture, if you will, a product called...Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder (totally NOT making this up). It's a...um...personal care item designed to prevent..."chafing"...and it smells remarkably like bananas. (Yeeeaaaahhh. Sometimes I just shake my head...) When we got back on track, Riley finished revealing his treasures and declared that he had received "the best 3 Christmas presents EVER!": the aforementioned e-reader; a stuffed TCU Horned Frogs mascot that reverses into a football; and a Nerf gun that releases velcro-tipped darts. An epic battle immediately ensued, of course, with much running amok through the various levels of the house, yelling of battle cries, and the distinctive sound of ammo being unstuck from clothes. But the punctuation mark for the day may have been provided by Riley, who paused in his combat situation for a moment to muse, "Huh, ironically, I shot the pillow that says 'Let there be peace'!"

And on that note, God bless us, every one : )

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Feed the World (or a very small corner of it, anyway...)

Lately I've been pondering the dilemma of how Derek could acquire the last couple of volunteer hours he needs, (to fill his high-school-graduation-quota of 75) preferably before the current academic year ends. (And we move...to another state...where hopefully the "time served" will transfer and he'll still be finished, at least with the "official, gotta fill out paperwork to get credit" sort of volunteering, though not with the "supporting our fellow man and/or the environment just because we want to and we should" kind. If you know what I mean...) I've always wanted to find something like a soup kitchen, since obviously food is extremely near-and-dear to a 13-year old boy's heart--and presumably he could empathize with those who don't have enough to eat, and feel the pleasure of providing nourishment to hungry people. So I did a bit of digging on the wondrous Internet, and found that there's a homeless shelter in a nearby town. Perfect, we are eager to help, sign us right the heck up! But there was just one teeny, tiny glitch: this particular building doesn't have cooking facilities on-site, so they rely completely on already-prepared meal donations brought to them from outside sources...enough to feed up to 200 people a night! (Slight pause: Y-I-K-E-S!!)

Feeling quite daunted by this information, I nevertheless contacted the nice lady who coordinates the food service. She assured me that they accept contributions of any amount, and we could commit to as few as 20 meals to be awarded Derek's service hours. (Whew!) We promptly arranged to assemble and deliver 40 bagged breakfasts over Thanksgiving weekend, then a hot dinner for 20, this evening. Now, obviously some of the work fell to me, as the one who needed to shop for all of the supplies. But once I had gathered bagels, individual cream-cheese-packets, fruit cups, granola bars, and juice boxes (all I can say is: thank goodness for the bulk-food-heaven that is known as "Costco") the brown-bag-elves--I mean "sons"--and I got down to work, packing and stacking what ended up to be a...mega-mound...of morning munchies. Granted, it wasn't exactly what you'd call "strenuous work"...but I believe we still experienced a collective sense of accomplishment and...I don't know, "warm fuzzies?"...when we dropped off the overflowing Rubbermaid tote at the front desk of the shelter. I, for one, enjoy the idea that someone who might not have been able to eat breakfast will have that opportunity because of what my family provided.

The next task involved quite a bit more planning, organizing...and (gasp) actual cooking. I decided to make an easy version of chicken parmesan (using breaded patties....still counts, right?) with sides of spaghetti and steamed green beans, and pumpkin snack cake for dessert. Um...yeeeaaahhh. Keep in mind, I'm the woman who considers cooking for her own household a chore, who attempts to throw together the simplest healthy meals possible for her family, who buys prepared food for parties rather than slaving away in the kitchen to please a crowd of people. And yet, somehow I thought it'd be a swell idea to cook a full meal...for 20? Who knows, maybe I hit my head that day, because that does NOT sound like me at ALL. Oh well, since I (or perhaps my Evil Twin--that would explain it) agreed to do this, there was no alternative but to roll up our sleeves and get busy. All joking aside, I realized that this would be a real chance for Derek to learn something...since he's never cooked anything in his life thus far. (I'm actually embarrassed to admit that...and yeah, it's waaayyy overdue. On it...) I mean, c'mon, he had to do all kinds of stuff that was new to him: follow a recipe...measure and mix ingredients...boil water...preheat the oven...um, set the microwave...etc...

I swear at one point I glanced around and marveled, "This looks like amateur night on Chopped, or something." We had multiple pots on the stove, utensils and bowls and huge roasting pans taking up every inch of counter space--it was a big honkin' mess, I tell ya. (That's a sure sign of creativity in the kitchen, right? Or just...a disaster waiting to be cleaned up...sigh...) But in the end, the chicken oozed with gooey deliciousness, the pasta hinted at buttery goodness, the green beans wafted a pleasant...garlicky...ness, and the pumpkin bread added a sweet cinnamon parting note. (Let me just say: Wow, did my car smell like an Italian restaurant on that delivery drive!) Somehow we pulled it all together in the nick of time before the appointed drop-off hour, and all was well. While we were gone, the Dishwashing Fairy--I mean "Husband"--even tidied up the culinary scene for us. So once again, quite a satisfying experience. We got Mother/Son bonding, we did something--even a little bit--to alleviate hunger in our area, and we managed to practice a few life skills in the process. For our next feat: Derek will demonstrate his newfound talents to whip up a feast...for a family of four! (Mwah hah hah...)

Thursday, December 19, 2013

A Musical, Delightful Pageant...of Brrrrr!

Having two kids can sometimes cause a bit of Parental Deja Vu as they grow up. The eldest reaches their big developmental milestones and enjoys a myriad of experiences for the first time...and you observe and appreciate all this along with them. (While waving, clapping, cheering...and occasionally sniffling...) Then the second one comes along and does the same thing-- which may feel familiar, but of course is still super-cool all over again. No matter how similar they are, each sibling follows their own path just enough to make it interesting for another go-round. (Because it's all about Mom and Dad's entertainment, didn't you know?) It's one kind of fun to reminisce about "when your brother did so-and-so" because let's face it, there are a great many activities that we repeat over the years. But it's even more special, I think, when one of the kids has an opportunity to do something unique, making it a memory that can be theirs alone.

For instance: last night we got to watch Riley's school chorus sing at the annual Pageant of Peace, on the National Mall in downtown D.C. (This would incidentally be our first...and last...chance to do this, since Derek disdains singing and thus had shunned the chorus when he was in 5th grade.) The excursion entailed a whole lotta logistics, with the weather, the travel, and the element of "where the heck do we go when we arrive". First we had to calculate the realistic length of time to move from Point A (our house) to Point B (Federal Triangle Metro station)--factoring in a car trip to the nearest Metro (bonus: during rush hour), parking, purchasing farecards, waiting for a train, riding for 12 stops, transferring from the Red to the Blue/Orange line, and then wandering around the city until we stumbled upon the location of the "warming tent" where the children would gather with their classmates and teachers to prepare for the presentation. (Whew...I'm exhausted just reliving that...through the keyboard...) And lest I forget, we had to accomplish all this while dressed as if for an Arctic expedition: layers of shirts, Winter coats, ear warmers, gloves, wool socks...etc... (And yes, I was still cold...I kept glancing around hopefully for a coffee stand...or even a Hot Chocolate Fairy?...but alas, none appeared...)

Once we completed our mission of delivering Riley--safely and even on-time, I might proudly add--the three of us non-carolers had time to meander through the display and take in the sights. It suddenly occurred to me that although I've lived in this area my whole life, I've never ONCE made a point to visit the National Christmas Tree. (How crazy is that? Yet one more thing to check off....right before we move away!) So let me just say that it was bee-yoo-tiful...all towering and glittery and colorful and bright. Each state has their own decorated pine as well, so we stopped by to check out Maryland's. We spent a few moments admiring the electric toy trains running around the base of the enormous fir. (Derek even remembered the names of Thomas the Tank Engine and all his friends, which was impressive...even if it's one more example of useless trivia taking up valuable real estate in his teenaged brain...) Finally, we enjoyed the nighttime views of the Washington Monument and White House. Oh, and we (I) shivered...and tried (in vain) to restore lost feeling to my fingers...and bounced up and down to encourage some elusive body heat.

Then we reached the appointed hour for the main event. Heavily-bundled 10-year olds filed onto the small stage and managed to belt out tunes quite nicely...blue lips and frozen cheeks notwithstanding. They certainly seemed enthusiastic and festive, and provided a nice little amateur-glee-club show for their popsicle parents. So, having pleased their public, the performers were ready to be reunited with their families...for the reverse trip home. We had run into some soccer friends in the stands, so the walk (ahem, "brisk march") back to the Metro was a social one. (Teenagers huddling in a conspiratorial way, adults taking advantage of the chat time, 5th graders dawdling and being prompted to keep up). All-in-all, it made a lovely story to add to Team WestEnders lore, during our final December as official Washington-area residents. (I am happy to also report that I have even regained sensation in my fingers and toes--but if the recent frigid weather is a harbinger of the Winter that hasn't even begun yet...I'm hiring my own Hot Chocolate Fairy to follow me around until April!)

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Tummy Trials

Usually when I sit down to spin a tale, I try to provide a few background details, rather than just leaping right into it. The basic point is to establish how each particular story I choose to relate fits into the "grand scheme" of life in my household. I also believe that including an introduction of sorts helps the episode make more sense. (Wishful thinking? Blissful delusion? Whatever...) Today, however, you might find me a bit...vague...on the specifics...in the interest of delicacy and...not grossing anyone out. Okey-dokey...with that in mind, suffice it to say that I was given a book--one that was recommended in a recent issue of one of my healthy-living magazines--by my dermatologist. (Although the book has nothing to do with skin, it happened to have been written by a good friend of my doctor's!)

The topic relates to...well....let's sum it up by using the polite euphemism "care and maintenance of a properly-running digestive system". Basically the author explains various types of digestive distress and disorders, offers possible explanations as to why they occur, and proposes some lifestyle "tweaks" to get everything in order and functioning at the ideal level of efficiency and comfort. I gotta say--it was fascinating...if utterly disgusting...reading. One thing that immediately caught my attention was her "10-day detox plan". I thought, "Hey, I can do anything for 10 days, right?" (And obviously, the holiday season is the absolute perfect time to try it, for sure...oops...)

There's a LOT more to it, but the doctor suggests that to banish such troublesome conditions as bloating, gas, and...irregularity (there, that was gentle, yeah?) one should avoid these items: soy, alcohol, dairy, gluten, artificial sweeteners, and sugar (which together make up the acronym SAD GAS--and who doesn't love a good acronym? I was on board, solely based on that...) Okay, that sounds doable...I don't really eat soy anyway, except the occasional tofu, which is easy to skip. Alcohol--I can totally live without my couple-of-beers-a-week, no problem. Dairy, sure! (Oh, except that I must have cream in my coffee...hmm, actually she discourages java as well...so clearly we've already stumbled upon one rule I'm gonna have to break.) Eh, moving on: gluten. This one will take some effort, but substituting brown rice and quinoa for any pasta will be fine. Bread will be...simply banned. Crackers are allowed...if I can scare up some non-wheat ones (looks like a trip to the natural food store is in my imminent future). As for artificial sweeteners, I still drink diet soda a few times a week, but how much can that hurt? Pffftt, I can't imagine it being that big a deal (Rule #2, shattered, if you're keeping score). And finally, sugar...I'm supposed to watch my consumption of that substance, anyway, so it's cool. (Except for a wee little bit in my morning joe...and honey in my tea...shhh! Rule #3...sigh...)

Alright, I've perused the guidelines, now let's dig into how, exactly, this will work in day-to-day life. Well, friends, I'll tell you how: with lengthy recipes....and hours of prep and cooking. Suddenly the good gastroenterologist is just not speakin' my language, if ya know what I mean. So I combed through the menu options and whittled them down to....let's call them "things I actually have the time and motivation to concoct". Then I made an amusing shopping list which contained such novel ingredients as "smoked Spanish paprika" (which I've heard of...but never actually laid eyes on, so we'll see if I can locate it), "ground psyllium husk" (Not. A. Clue...), "coconut water" (I think I know where that is...ish...), "escarole" (salad-related, though I have no earthly idea if my grocery store carries it...guess we'll see) and "steel-cut oats" ('cereal cousins'--yeah, I've got that one).

So tomorrow morning I'll be the one wandering around the aisles of my local market, probably looking a bit lost and even more confounded as I attempt to scrounge up the building blocks for my new "healthy gut" diet. This is going to be a HOOT...or an unmitigated disaster...I could honestly see it going either way. But if it leads to all kinds of peace and prosperity...in the digestive...region, it's worth a try. Here goes nothing!

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

A Footnote (ba dump bump)

We all know that life can be unpredictable and crazy, right? (What was that? Did I hear a collective "Well, DUH!"?) Besides the daily routines that take up most of our time, we sometimes get random curveballs tossed our way, just to shake things up and keep them...interesting? In my case, a recent example could be summed up using a simple equation: H(eavy electrical plug) +  P(inkie toe) = B(aaaadddd Bruise). (Because, yeah, geeks like me never miss an opportunity to slip math into conversation...) I'm still coping with the repercussions of this particular incident, such as having to modify my gait when walking, being forced to forgo any strenuous form of exercise that involves putting pressure on the digit, and (most annoyingly) needing to avoid...wearing shoes! (Uh-huh, it's December...and while this would pose no difficulty whatsoever if I were, say, on a lovely tropical island somewhere...in Maryland it pretty much...sucks...)

But when we have....stuff...to deal with, we can get through it by remembering some time-honored truths, like "this, too, shall pass". We can lean on loved ones to supply much-needed support...such as when I borrowed Derek's snowboots to shovel the driveway yesterday, since they're several sizes too big for me and thus didn't squish my injured toe. And finally, we can dig down deep and draw strength from our own principles, counting on them to guide us in the right direction while we recover from the trying event. Except sometimes...in desperate situations....we examine our own Life Rules, find them inapplicable...and decide to chuck them out the window.

Before you get all concerned about me experiencing some kind of catastrophic ethical breakdown... or whatever...let me explain: I'm talking about an apparel-related dilemma. You see, I've never been what you'd consider a "shoe girl". I mean, sure, I do wear them, but I don't tend to grab any excuse to add to my collection. (Not that there's anything wrong with that--you know who you are...) And one commandment I have adhered to with utter loyalty up to this point in my life is: I. Don't. Do. Crocs. To be clear, I'm not at all suggesting that I look down on...Croc-ophiles. (Hold on...hahahahahaha! Sorry....) I totally understand (and agree) that the product is comfortable and convenient. I just find them...um...hideously unattractive. (It's my own  personal problem, I know.) Also, being somewhat cheap--I mean "frugal"--I've always balked at the notion of spending $40 for a couple of pieces of rubber...with holes.

However...in my current state of foot discomfort, I found that the only shoes in the house I could (gingerly) put on...were Derek's oversized, neon green, you guessed it, Crocs. Sigh. So I donned the unsightly things (did I mention the "desperation"?), but the minute I stepped out of the house, I felt like an episode of What Not to Wear waiting to happen. I swear I did a visual 360-sweep trying to catch Stacey and Clinton before they could ambush me. And walking in those critters? It was quite a spectacle, I'm sure--imagine me tromping down the street with size-11 plastic limes on my feet, shuffling awkwardly in the attempt to keep them attached, frigid wind whistling through those oh-so-functional ventilation points. Needless to say, I quickly ascertained that this would never do.

That left me only one solution, as I could figure it: a trip to the closest outlet mall, to (gulp) purchase my first (and quite possibly last) pair of Crocs. With a deep, fortifying breath, I stepped into the store to confront the rainbow array of slip-on manmade footwear. And (what do you know) I managed to home in on an understated (that would be "dark brown"), fuzz-lined pair that satisfied my modest goals of 1) fitting without squeezing (or flopping) and 2) insulating my tootsies from the outdoor chill. Better yet, I couldn't even feel too guilty about buying them, since they were on sale for 40% off. At least now I can walk carefully and painlessly while my toe finishes healing (hurry up, already!) and not feel so much like a conspicuous Fashion Don't. So...if you happen to spot me in the next couple of days sporting uncharacteristic foam-clog-like-things that clash horribly with...well, just about everything...try not to judge me too harshly. Remember that I had very little choice in the matter. And whatever you do, please, PLEASE don't step on my toe!

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Mars and Venus, the Adolescent Edition

A few days ago, I had a rare opportunity to spend a thoroughly entertaining evening drinking tea, (whoo, wild and crazy, we are) nibbling on delectable snacks, and chatting with some of my Mom Friends. These are a few of the women I met when Derek was 5 months old and we happened to be matched together for a playgroup. Although our kids obviously have outgrown their Legos-and-juice-box dates, we adults still have "meetings" when we can, to catch up and socialize.

Now, at our latest gathering the other ladies who could make it happened to all have two daughters each...leaving me as the only one there with experience in the, um...Boy Realm. So while I could contribute very little to the discussions about "girlie stuff", I did find it quite...let's say enlightening. As my friends told stories chock-full of adolescent female angst, I felt both aghast at the sheer...hormonal emotionalism...they described, and also hugely amused by the creative, heartfelt, dramatic outbursts they reported navigating--almost on a daily basis--with their offspring.

What I learned can be summed up in a few points: 1) Parents of a pre-teen or teenage daughter should expect to deal with a great deal of crying. 2) And shouting. 3) Also eye-rolling, huffing, sarcasm, back-talk, stomping of feet, slamming of doors, and other forms of vehement displeasure. 4) But my absolute personal favorite has to include the following lines, reported by each of the women as "commonly heard in our house": "Whyyyyy are you yelling at meeee?" "Stop NAGGING me!" "You're so meeeeeaaan!" And the guaranteed conversation-killer, "Just leave me alooooooneee!" At this point I couldn't help it--I burst into gleeful laughter as I clearly envisioned these scenarios between overwrought young girls and their exasperated mothers. And I had to simultaneously breathe a profound internal sigh of relief...because I just can't imagine any of these sentences E-V-E-R issuing from Derek's mouth (pause for a moment...thank goodness!!!)

In fact, when I shared the story with both of my kids the next day, Derek enjoyed a good chuckle over the antics of his middle-school-girl-pals. Then--wiseacre that he is--he just had to try it on for size--so he stamped his foot (so softly it didn't even register on the carpet), threw his notebook on the ground (gently, so as not to wrinkle the pages or rip the cover), and flung himself on my bed (carefully, barely denting the comforter), wailing something incomprehensible about...I don't even know...the injustice of his life? Or some such nonsense. The entire charade was further undermined by the enormous cheesy grin splitting his face from ear-to-ear as he delivered this masterful performance. Meanwhile, a bemused Riley briefly looked up from across the room, where he sat engrossed in examining an Amazon delivery box that was empty, except for the packing peanuts.

I turned back to Derek to emphatically conclude my comments with something along the lines of, "And that's just one more reason I'm sooooo thankful that I have sons..." However, we'll never know what my final words might have been, because at that very moment I glanced back to Riley...who had (for reasons that remain utterly obscure to us all) buried his head in the styrofoam-filled container...so that the most visible part of him was....his butt sticking up in the air. As my mouth dropped open in disbelief at this ridiculous sight, Derek actually fell on the ground in hysterics. When he managed to recover enough breath to speak, he gasped out, "What were you saying about boys being better, Mom?" Riley in the meantime had popped his head back up and was swiveling his startled gaze around the room, as if to determine the source of all the fuss and merriment. Oh...never mind. But you know what, I'll still take unadulterated... boy...gooberheadedness over...chick histrionics, any old day!

Saturday, December 7, 2013

A lot of trouble, from a little toe

Do you think that after a relatively accident-free life, in which one is blessed (and very very grateful, if the universe is listening!) by the absence of fractured bones, unexpected mishaps, and random freak occurrences...it can all begin to catch up to you? Because this is turning out to be my year for...weird, unfortunate events. The latest episode transpired on Friday, at about 8:30 a.m. Why do I recall the time so exactly? Because I was trying to accomplish "just one more thing" in the kitchen before hustling my butt upstairs (where I really ought to have been already) to get dressed and prepare for work. And it was that final task--that I was rushing to finish--which led to my downfall. You see, I wanted to sharpen a pencil, (gosh, that sounds sooooo stupid after the fact...what was I thinking?) probably to add another item to my never-ending To Do List. Our electric sharpener has a separate huge, heavy plug, (for reasons that remain unknown to me--how much power could it possibly need? overkill, I tell ya...) and in juggling the two parts, I managed to drop it...directly...and exclusively...on my left pinkie toe.

Well, cue the immediate aaaaagonyyyy. Honestly (not counting childbirth, which is in a whole 'nother class, obviously) I can't remember when anything has caused me that much sheer torment. Then some yelling ensued. (Mostly the extremely articulate: "OWWWWWWWW"...repeatedly....) There were even tears. Riley was the only one home with me at the time, and since I don't think he's ever actually witnessed me crying ('cuz, yeah, I just...don't) I think I traumatized the poor baby. After I got it together--marginally--I limped up the steps to proceed with my toiletry. (The mental processes weren't functioning too well by that point, as you can tell.) My first reality check came, however, when I faced the suddenly-Herculean task of: donning socks and shoes. Uh-oh. "Um, let's drive to the bus stop, honey," I suggested through gritted teeth, hobbling towards the car as Riley watched me with a doubtful expression.

And what happened after he was safely delivered to the bus? I continued on to my place of employment, of course. ..operating the clutch in my manual transmission vehicle verrrrry gingerly...and with large amounts of gasping and muttering. (Sometimes I'm so smart, I scare myself...this is NOT an example...) Once I had a chance to sit down and prop up my foot, I busied myself Googling "broken toe" (since I'm also a medical expert, and can self-diagnose with the best of them--ha!)...and texting a vivid photo to Husband, as he works with bonafide MDs, who might have some reliable, helpful advice. (Aren't we a cute couple? Anyone can send racy pictures, but we're...never mind, let's just go with "strange"...) I didn't think there was really much you could do for it, and both sources confirmed this. Just the time-honored wisdom of RICE (Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate), which I commenced as soon as possible. (You know, after I wore excruciating footwear for most of the day, standing and walking around for hours doing my job...then I went home and treated the injury. Sigh. Like I said: brilliant, right?)

By the time I returned to the house, the swelling and bruising had both noticeably worsened. Hmm, how to describe it...the toe itself was a puffy, misshapen, eggplant-colored...mess. The purple stain reached all the way around the digit, as well as halfway down my foot toward the ankle. On the plus side (I suppose) when I showed it to Derek he noted after a moment's reflection, "Well, at least it's...Ravens color!" (Gee...thanks, son...) I finally wrapped it as best I could with gauze and tape, popped some ibuprofen, and planted myself in a chair for as much of the remainder of the evening as I could.

The good news is that today when I woke up the swelling actually seemed to have decreased a bit and the appearance...well, let's just say it isn't any...uglier. I can't voluntarily move the toe itself due to its sheer size right now, but when I manipulate it to change the bandage it doesn't increase the "ouch factor" at all. So I'm cautiously optimistic that maybe it's merely...extraordinarily bruised, but not broken. (Naturally I'm even more qualified than I was yesterday, given my new experience, to make these determinations...) And hey, speaking of silver linings, I had a 100% legitimate excuse to pawn off one of my least favorite chores. That's right, I sent the Male Posse to the grocery store...on a weekend....right before a potential snow and ice storm is forecast to arrive...MWAH HAH HAH! Oh yeah, I wonder who was hurting more, right about then? But all kidding aside, I have high hopes that the healing will continue to progress, and that I'll be back to my "regular activities" in no time. After all, I have dance class to attend...on Monday night! (Fingers crossed...but not toes!!)

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Bringing personal meaning to the term "clearance"!

Some of you (anyone who's ever met me) may possibly, perhaps, perchance be aware (after approximately 5 minutes in my presence) that I'm a bit of an...avid ("compulsive") organizer. At times this means rearranging things in the house "to locate them more logically, and thereby increase overall efficiency." (i.e.: drive the other members of my family bat-poo-crazy when they can't immediately find the stuff I've moved...even though the new scheme is clearly a vast improvement and enhances everyone's life exponentially. So there. Humph.) On other occasions it takes the form of..."closet and cupboard management", in which outgrown or out-of-style clothes, no-longer-used toys, and unneeded household items get designated for consignment or donation.

And then, there's the magical realm known as: Craigslist...that most wondrous of virtual realities where one can post a description and a photo of (gently used) stuff seeking a (new, loving) home...then stand back as (voila) a match is made through the mystical power of the Internet. Craig and I have had a long and fruitful relationship, but this whole...transactional...nirvana...has become even more relevant to me lately, with an impending relocation in my future. (Okay, I realize it's still 7 months away, but it's never too early to be fully prepared, right? I mean, I'm not the least bit obsessive, am I? Yeah, better not answer that...and stay tuned for more hard evidence to aid in your assessment...) So, with my mantra whispering softly in my head (um, that would be "reduce, reuse, recycle", of course) I cast a keen eye on the catch-all bin of our household...also know as "the basement".

Ah, yes, the lowest level of our home...the place where random furniture and such lands if it's, shall we say, "not quite presentable enough for the parlor". (Of course that's metaphorical, as we have no such room...nor would know what the heck to do with one if we did...but you get the point...) An aunt wants to pass along some aging-but-still-useful armchairs? Sure, they'll fit downstairs! Another relative is replacing her dining room set? Why not, put a few more seats in the "cave". But with a goal of...tidying up...I decided there was no better time than the present for unloading some of the excess baggage we've accumulated since moving in 14 years ago. I could not have predicted, however, the dizzying speed with which commerce would ensue. In a shockingly swift week, the formerly--not crowded, by any means, but...comfortably stocked, maybe?--basement had been all-but-cleared of its contents.

Now, I had obviously discussed my intentions with Husband before commencing to sell off pieces of our property willy-nilly, and he heartily agreed that the plan was sound. However, there was just a bit of consternation when a result of the WestEnders Sale became apparent: that is, disposing of absolutely all of the chairs meant there was no longer anyplace to sit and watch the downstairs TV. Husband and I had already discussed this outcome, and had determined that it was completely acceptable, since we mostly exercise down there and thus don't end up sitting around while viewing anyway. But one night I did want to watch a DVD...and had to resort to perching on my large, inflatable workout ball...which, hey, is great for your posture and tones your core at the same time, so it's really all good. (And as a bonus, Husband did get quite a chuckle out of the sight...)

And then, there remained only one more thing to finish the successful clean-out: an ancient bookshelf that had been Husband's from an early age. Now, let me state for the record that this was an unimposing, fairly lightweight, pressed-wood, painted shelf...NOT an antique, NOT a family heirloom of any kind. (Yes, this is important; you'll see why very soon). When I asked if Husband would mind my offering it to the buying public, he burst into a startling rant about how it would mean "auctioning off his childhood, destroying his special memories, he'd be traumatized, blah blah blah". It was abundantly apparent that he was (mostly) joking...although he may also have been suffering just a teensy bit of...commercial backlash...from the revolving door of our possessions changing hands in recent days. Nevertheless, I assumed that he approved the proposed sale, and went ahead with my listing. Wouldn't you know, before the end of that very evening an interested party had contacted me, and by the next afternoon the shelf was gone...all before Husband even arrived home from work.

So all in all, I have to consider this an extremely positive foray into the decluttering milieu. We obtained a little cash, we transferred some things to folks who could use them...we have more wide open areas to lift weights and ride the stationary bike in the basement? But the punctuation to this rambling tale comes from Riley, who greeted his father when he came in the door (after the Bookshelf Bargain had been completed) by throwing his arms around Husband's waist and saying in a voice dripping with sympathy and with just the slightest, most believable amount of a wail, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry she's selling off your most precious possessions...and your childhood!" Oh. Good. Grief. It turned out to be a good thing Riley was supporting his father (literally), as Husband could barely stand, since he was helpless with laughter at this display. Of course, he has only himself to blame, as he was the one who introduced both boys to the famous Bloom County cartoon where Milo tries to recover his "youthful idealism" at the Lost and Found counter. Husband has a tendency to quotes this strip frequently, when he wishes to inject an element of drama to any situation. Thanks for that, dear. Just what they need, creative license to be...even bigger gooberheads than usual...

But that's okay, I'll have my revenge...if (when) they get on my nerves, I'll send them all to the cavernous, empty basement...to take a time out on the exercise ball and think about their transgressions. (While I use the loot to get myself a nice gingerbread latte...yeah, now we're talkin'...)

Saturday, November 30, 2013

It's the Little Things...

The kids and I attended a church service this evening in which the primary message was, appropriately, "gratitude". Of course the Thanksgiving weekend, leading right into the upcoming whirlwind holiday season, places this worthy topic in the front-and-center of people's minds. We've all been thinking about our blessings and making a conscious effort to fully appreciate them. But the pastor's point actually centered around cultivating a spirit of thankfulness at all times...completely independent of what you have...or lack...in your life, and regardless of what the world may throw your way in terms of obstacles, heartache, setbacks, or the like. It was powerful stuff, and it got me thinking of how to apply this principle to everyday circumstances...maybe to "reframe" some of the petty annoyances that crop up in the course of the Daily Grind.

Just in the past week, for example, I experienced...oh, let's call it what it was: a Mommy Meltdown...when faced with One. More. Stinkin'. Load. Of. Laundry. I grumped and groused about all the stupid socks and the blasted towels and the...darn...sweatshirts. But wait a minute...how grateful am I that my kids have clothes to wear? (Not rhetorical, actually...the answer is: too much to even express...) Okay, I can see how this may work. Let's try another one...hmm...ooohhh, I know! I looooaaathe grocery shopping. First the menu-planning and list-making...then the slalom course through crowded aisles, dodging other carts and bargain-hunters...and finally the label-reading, price-scanning, and (gulp) paying for a week's supply of rations for a family of four. However, this is an easy one to turn around; the fact that we have enough money to buy food--so that our kids never have to go to bed hungry--and also to donate meals and supplies to local organizations that serve those less fortunate...that's absolutely priceless to me.

I'm on a roll, now, what other irritating stuff can I look at differently? Here's a common complaint: traffic around here SUCKS. Yet when I happen to be navigating it while commuting to my job-- which I enjoy and know I'm lucky to have--it suddenly seems like a whole lot less of a hardship. (Mostly...I'm not saying there won't be any yelling in my car...but I am trying, here...) Next, something I gripe about a LOT: It's cold outside. Thank goodness, then, that I have a roof over my head, a working furnace that produces enough heat to warm me and my family...and hot tea. Alright, we're doing pretty well, so let's try a challenging one: the boys have tracked in enough mud and leaves and...other...gritty junk (again) to make a whole pen full of pigs comfortable and happy. Right...of course it goes without saying that I'm thankful for my sons. Um, and that they have...shoes...and...yeah, I just can't find it in myself to get all giddy and appreciative about dirt, sorry.

So anyway, I realize the sermon was meant to offer comfort and wisdom to people during some of the more catastrophic events that can occur in one's life journey. But I think that everyone (me me ME) can use the advice to nurture a "universal attitude of gratitude". And like all valuable lessons, practice is required to truly master the technique. I don't see any reason not to start small, so that eventually it might blossom into a bonafide, automatic glass-half-full perspective. Wouldn't that be nice? Maybe then I'll even be able to see the beauty in..."household grime"...

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Hip to be Square?

Mothers have so many precious opportunities to bond with their children in a myriad of ways, on a daily basis and over the years as they grow up. Of course there are the small-yet-special moments that bring you together--things like hugs, mealtime conversations, and shared experiences. Then you have the "biggies": family vacations enjoyed, holiday traditions honored, life milestones marked. And I'd say as my sons have gotten older, I've had a pretty good run in terms of being able to appreciate and talk about..."stuff" that boys these days consider "cool". We've always had baseball, for example, as a topic of avid interest that we can spend time dissecting and discussing. (Some might even say "ad nauseum"...but clearly they just don't understand how to savor the finer points of America's pastime...in all its 3-hours-per-game, Steroid Era glory...or what have you...) We've even listened to (some of) the same music, mainly on the local Urban Pop station. (I can't resist pointing out that in this particular area I come out far-and-away the victor over Husband, who admits to having no earthly idea who Robin Thicke is...and at one point actually asked, "What the heck's a...Ke$ha?" Hee hee...score one for Mom...)

However...there comes a point in every parent's life when your...let's call it Hipness Quotient...inevitably begins to decline...and there's simply not a whole lot you can do about it. (Sigh...) I suppose for me the sad spiral into...Parental Exile from Popular Land...began when Derek became fascinated by Rap music. After a nice, long interlude in the save haven of Maroon 5/Imagine Dragons/Gym Class Heroes, he suddenly started requesting permission to download songs by Nelly...and Jay Z...and some character called...2 Chainz. (Actually, in some cases he was kidding, as he knows better than to even bother asking if there's not a "clean" version...which seriously limits his options...) So during the American Music Awards the other night, we were able to laugh hysterically/cringe in horror at the train wreck that is Miley Cyrus...singing with a creepy, disturbing, altogether WRONG...CGI cat...lip syncing behind her. But when it came time to present Kendrick Lamar performing his hit song Swimming Pools...I suddenly found myself in the category of: "utterly clueless". That's okay, though, because in my opinion we had more fun mocking the hairstyles of those teen dreams known as One Direction. (Seriously, guys, who told you to do that goofy swoopy-thing? Fire them. Immediately. And by the way, you're bazillionaires--invest in a couple of combs...) Oh, and let's not forget the collective joy of groaning every time Taylor Swift got summoned to the stage. (A.LOT.)

But it took a turn for the much, much worse when we were watching a college basketball game the other night--honestly, I don't even remember the opponents, but our favorite guy was: (totally not making this up, are you ready for it?) Shabazz Napier. How. Freakin'. Awesome. is that name? (FYI: I just Googled, and he's Puerto-Rican-American...which would not have been my first...or second guess, so show's you what I know, right? But I digress...) Anyway, he's an impressive player, and at one point he drained an absolutely gorgeous 3-point shot from loooonnng distance, after which they of course put up a graphic with his stats. Here's what ensued:

Me (reading his totals, thinking I'm making insightful, intelligent commentary) "Oh, he has 20 points...and is 4-for-5 from the 3-point arc!"
Derek (mouth agape, in a tone of voice that is equal parts...horrified...and chastising) "Moooommm, no one says that!" Then he shifted to an ironically snooty, professorial voice to add, "The 3-point arc?" Switching back to a regular tone, he firmly concluded, "It's called...DOWNTOWN!"
Me (in my head) "Oh, do forgive me, my darling son, for channeling my inner SportsCenter anchor, rather than being as....street...as you" (Yeah, my 100% Child of Suburbia)!

Ohhh-kaaaay...so it seems that my credibility with the Millenials--at least those in my household--has plummeted of late. Oh well, it had to happen sooner or later. No one escapes the dreaded Generation Gap forever, right? At least Husband and I have done what we consider to be our solemn duty in exposing our kids to Classic Rock and getting them to like it, so that they can't make too much fun of us one day for continuing to sing along to Journey, Led Zeppelin, Boston, and the like. By that time we'll be too hard-of-hearing to mind the bleeped-out rappers our sons might still be listening to...and we'll be sitting reeeeealllly close to the big-screen TV...to be able to discern when a player nails a stunning long-range shot...from DOWNTOWN!

Saturday, November 23, 2013

The Future of SportsCenter?

I've been interested in the wide world of sports for pretty much as long as I can remember. Not in a "paint your face, don a foam hat proclaiming love for your team, start tailgating at 8 a.m. and mourn each loss as if a beloved pet had died" kind of way...but more along the lines of  "read the Sunday section front-to-back, check scores online, patronize Os games, yell at the TV when 'my guys' aren't performing up to par". (Because that totally works, if you put enough authority behind it, yeah?) As such, I consider myself to be reasonably up on the current news and at least some of the major players involved. (Although I freely admit that when teams start moving around and changing names, I tend to get confused--for example, can someone tell me when the Pelicans came into being...and why?) However, I must also state with all honesty that there's a limit to my attention and level of involvement in the day-to-day business of what essentially amounts to "grown men playing games and getting paid for it". It's becoming increasingly apparent that this is NOT true for my teenage son...

Case in point: today he and Husband will be attending their very first University of Maryland collegiate football contest, having been invited by a soccer-family-friend. When I approached Derek to ask if he wanted to accept, he instantly responded, "Yeah, I'm in!" Then after a moment's pause he added wryly, "I'll go watch us get killed..." Now, I don't necessarily follow the Terps all that closely, but I didn't think they were that bad, so I encouragingly replied, "They're playing Boston College, so maybe it'll be okay." (Meanwhile, I'm thinking "Yay, me, for having a relevant, at least semi-accurate comment to offer the conversation!" Oh, silly, silly mom...) He stared at me with an astounded expression before sputtering vehemently, "One of their running backs rushed for 400 yards last week!"

Now it was my turn to gape at him incredulously--while at the same time several emotions were warring for supremacy...am I more perturbed at this ridiculously useless fact taking up valuable space in his adolescent brain (which clearly needs all the available resources it can muster, to handle such everyday tasks as, say, homework...remembering to put away his clean laundry...keeping track of his phone...etc...) Or am I primarily amazed at his ability to store and recall stats on demand? (Even for teams we have no relationship with, whatsoever? Please don't hold your breath for an answer; I suspect the jury's gonna be out on this one for quite a while...) Fortunately, I'm somewhat mollified by the realization that he doesn't just memorize stuff. During the recent baseball season, we were able to have lengthy, detailed discussions about who should be awarded the AL MVP, based on such criteria as batting averages, RBI totals, fielding prowess, and overall contribution to the success of their organization. And just last night he provided a thoughtful, logical analysis to my question of whether Texas A&M's QB, Johnny Manziel, should or should not declare himself eligible for the upcoming NFL draft.

Back to our original exchange, when I had recovered enough to speak again, I asked, "How do you come up with this stuff?" He glanced down his nose at me in an infuriatingly superior fashion and scoffed, "Moooommm, I know things!" Well, that much is abundantly obvious....and leaves no room for rebuttal. So I suppose in the new hierarchy (of Team WestEnders) I shall bow to my... ESPN junkie...for all burning sports-related topics. I trust that if he doesn't already know it, he'll look it up...because after all, he wouldn't want to tarnish his newly-anointed position as the one who "knows things", right?!

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

A Ghost of Childhood Past...

Did you ever have one of those moments when someone you've known for years, who you think you understand pretty darn well...suddenly does something totally surprising and completely mystifies you? Yeah, of course it happens...but it's just a little disconcerting when the unfamiliar behavior in question is exhibited by your child.

This week's Tales of the Unexpected comes courtesy of Riley. Last Saturday, when he was wrestling with his older sibling (no, that's not the unusual part) he got bonked in the face by Derek's hard head (nope, not yet...very commonplace events, so far). I'm not sure whether it was directly related to the occurrence--or just a coincidence that he noticed it for the first time when checking his mouth for injuries afterwards--but he immediately reported to me that he had a loose tooth. Okay, he still has several of his baby set to replace yet, so this was not worrisome. However, he became a bit obsessive about it, trying everything in his power to wiggle the thing free--twisting with his fingers, chomping down extra-hard on apple slices, banging it against his brother. (Just kidding about that last one, he had luckily already learned his lesson regarding the pain Derek's bony body parts can cause...)

But on Sunday night, out of the blue he asked me, "Do you think the Tooth Fairy will come?" I'm sorry, the who, now? Let me first explain that not once, in all the 13 years I've been a mother, has that particular creature EVER visited our house. It's not that I believe there's anything wrong with the mythology...of a sprite who collects...bits of hardened calcium...that fall from youngsters' mouths. I've just never promoted the story, or participated in the secret program of exchanging-coinage-for-castoff-chompers. I mean really, what's up with this legend, anyway? What brilliant soul came up with the idea that parents should pay their kids for used baby teeth that are going to fall out anyway, through absolutely no heroic effort or special actions on their part? And by the way, what does this chick DO with the little nuggets, anyway? Ewww...on second thought, I'm starting to get creeped out...and I'm kind of glad we never supported this sketchy collaboration between a...shady tooth-hoarding lady and...the money-grubbing masses...of tots.

Anyway, my point is, this particular subject had never even popped up before, and I was flabbergasted at having to deal with it after all this time. And Riley seemed completely earnest, too, like he was honestly expecting some...magical nocturnal trade...to happen while he slumbered. Sigh. Then he came home from school on Monday with a tiny container he'd gotten from the Health Room--you guessed it--which held the tooth that had finally shaken itself out at lunchtime. He excitedly planned exactly what he'd do that night, "Should I leave it under my pillow? How will the Tooth Fairy know to come?" Before I even thought about it for a second, I automatically invoked the sacred power of...um..."Allowable Parental Fibbing" and blithely replied, "Oh, she gets memos about this stuff. But maybe you should leave it on your desk, instead, so she doesn't have to root around and disturb you to find it." What the WHAT? Where did that come from? In the next instant, when my brain caught up with my mouth, I had to stifle the hysterical giggles that threatened to bubble up and expose me for a despicable...Fraud Mom. Fortunately Riley swallowed this fishy story with nary a suspicion...and I got away with it. (Mwah hah hah!)

So, after he'd been tucked snugly under his blankets and ushered off to dreamland, it was time to execute the next phase of the...Great Dental Deception. Practically his last words before I kissed him goodnight had been a wistful, "I hope I get a quarter...that's all I want." Aww, how cute...but then again, this sweetly-innocent wish required that I instigate a house-wide search for a 25-cent-piece to bestow upon my child...lest I tragically shatter one of the last remaining parts of his rapidly-retreating childhood...or something. I located the required payment in the stash that Husband collects to use in the vending-machine at work. ("Sorry, dear, it's for a good cause...or blame your youngest son, whichever works better for you...") When a few hours had passed and I was reasonably certain Riley would be fast asleep, I snuck into his room to make the switch. Wouldn't you know--when I opened the door, he sat right up and swiveled his head around, blinking against the light from the hallway as though trying to figure out what was happening. Knowing that he wasn't truly awake and most likely wouldn't remember any of this, I just completed my mission and skedaddled as quickly as possible.

The next morning when I went in once more to roust him for school, these were his very first words, delivered in that soft, sleepy voice of one who's not quite fully conscious yet: "The Tooth Fairy came!" Ay yi yi--I mean, "Oh, that's wonderful, sweetie!" Later in the day, he mused, "I wonder where my tooth is now?" Ha! That's an easy one--it's in my desk drawer, buried underneath a bunch of stuff so you'll never see it! (Yeah, that was obviously the response in my head...) I quickly formulated some suitably noncommittal reply and changed the subject. I suppose, for whatever reason, we're going to continue this little game until the rest of his original teeth come out...or he gets wise to the scam, whichever comes first. Memo to me: start a stockpile of quarters for emergency situations...and next time, go in Tooth Fairy Commando style, with the lights off!

Sunday, November 17, 2013

So long to Soccer (for now....)

We've reached the end of yet another soccer campaign--just one in an extended string of them for my boys--and as usual it's bittersweet. For one thing, this season represents the second-to-last one that Derek will be eligible to play for our local rec-league, as it only includes teams through 8th grade. So although there's the prominent feeling of "whew, say goodbye to those twice-a-week, 2-hour practices (both brothers back-to-back) and Saturday games (one for each)", there's also the beginning stirrings of nostalgia already, as we can see the end...still distant as yet, but just peeking over the horizon. (Also, once we're all rested up and settled back into a less-crazy routine, we have a moment to ponder the fact that it's also a very looooong Winter ahead of us before the next season gets underway...which is a bit of a bummer...)

This Fall, Riley competed in the U12 Division--which covers 5th and 6th grades--for the first time. At each level, some technical aspects of the game change, presenting new challenges to the players. In this case, the field size and the length of the games both increase. This tends to result in somewhat of a "learning curve" as the younger kids adjust; the older ones therefore often dominate the standings throughout the weeks of competition. As parents, we've become familiar with this system, and tolerant of the potential ups and downs from one season to the next. (Or perhaps it's just that after hundreds of soccer matches, we've cultivated a very Zen approach that allows us to...I don't know..."become one with the energy of the open field"...or on second thought, it's probably just the pregame coffee talking...) Anyway, with all this being said, Riley's gang was really pleasantly competitive this year...winning a few, losing a few, and since this is "the beautiful game" we're talking about, even finishing in a tie, once. And as they say, a good time was had by all.

Derek's squad, on the other hand, had moved up to the top of their U14 division, age-wise. Last year, as 7th-graders, they performed the unenviable role of...let's just call it "those getting their...tushies...kicked all over the place" as the bigger, stronger students pretty much rolled all over them (sometimes literally--trust me, it was a lot of things, but it wasn't pretty...) But in this scenario, what goes around does, in fact, come around, and it was their turn to run rampant...which they did, with copious amounts of enthusiasm. Without going into the details, let's just say they scored buckets of goals while giving up very few...and leave it at that. Unfortunately, their stellar season ended in the worst possible way, as they lost a hard-fought, nailbiting (rather, that was the parents on the sidelines) Championship game...in #%*& penalty kicks. (Sigh....haven't we been here before? Yep, and guess what, still SUCKS...)

All of this was well behind us, however, as we headed into the very important...Postseason Parties. In time-honored tradition, Coach had booked a session on a local indoor turf field, for an all-out, no-mercy...okay, okay, "friendly match" between the kids and whatever parents were feeling stupid--I mean "feisty"--enough to take them on. Our fearless leader also very wisely mixed the teams, so 10-year olds, parents, and a few older brothers all mingled on either side of the ball....lessening the chances of anyone getting pummeled too harshly. He did an excellent job balancing the contest, too, as the score ended up 1-1...and there were no injuries. Then...it was time (cue ominous music, foretelling impending doom) for the teenagers to storm the pitch. Last year at this time, Derek was neither taller nor heavier than me, aaannnd this year he's both. Somehow, these boys keep stretching, while I just get...older and slower. How is that fair? So for me, personally, as long as I came out of this without breaking or tearing anything, I'd be happy. (Oh, who am I kidding--I have a competitive streak that's tough to shut down, and I had much loftier aims...you know, "not looking like a doofus" being high on the list. Also "not allowing the superior soccer players to run circles around me, unchecked"...Yeah, stuff like that...)

And I've gotta say, it was loads of fun...pretending like I know what the HECK I'm doing on a soccer field. Whatever--I didn't hurt anything, and (bonus) I don't think I made too much of a fool out of myself, I'm gonna call it a big old "W". Oh, except one little problem: my precious son Derek, exasperated after the other team scored, had the sheer gall to (are you ready for this?)...criticize my defense! ("Mom, what are you doing? That was yours! Go play forward, I'm taking over!") Um, excuse me? Killer instinct, much? (Oh, wait a minute...yeah, partially my fault...never mind.) What I meant to say was, "Instead of taking the time to waltz back here and give me grief, why don't you and that mouth of yours trot on up the field and score a goal to even it out? Oh, and you're grounded, so there!" (Maybe I need to work on my trash-talk, ya think?) Other than that, it was a hoot...a sweaty, sprinting, sucking wind...barrel of laughs. In the end, the scoreboard showed another tie, so we took that to mean "everyone's a winner". And it really doesn't matter one way or the other, since we all get pizza and doughnuts for our effort. Yay, team(s)! Now thank goodness I have plenty of opportunity to rest up until the Spring go-around...

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

More Hijinks, of an Elementary Nature

My younger son continues on his recent spate of...well, I'm not exactly sure what to call it, so let's just christen it "Riley-ness" and leave it at that. Here's the latest: I'm used to the older brother only sharing stories of "what happened at school today" if he considers it something truly exceptional (some examples of what he deems conversationally relevant would be "friends getting yelled at in class", "SportsCenter-quality plays in PE", or "amazingly idiotic behavior that I observed in the cafeteria"). In contrast, Riley tends to burst in the door after school and immediately commence spouting off about every little detail of his apparently 4:00 News-worthy stint in the halls of academia. I get a full reckoning of people's words and actions, the subsequent consequences, if any, and (as a bonus) Riley's commentary on the entire situation, complete with insightful analysis into classmates' reasons for making their choices, and how they could have possibly improved their results.

Sooo, anyway, he arrived home one day and announced matter-of-factly, "I had a great idea for lunch today." I was about to ask a leading question when he (naturally--no need to pull information out of this one) continued, "I'm gonna be rebellious!" Oh dear, this is suddenly beginning to sound less "creative" and more..."potential phone call from the principal"...but he explained, "Usually, lunch tables are set up with two for boys and two for girls." (I assumed he meant that boys and girls arranged themselves separately on purpose....which seems perfectly reasonable to ME!) "Yesterday I sat at the girls' table, (uh-oh, here we go...) and then some girls sat at the boys' table and some boys sat at the girls' table. So today, I'm gonna try to get two boys, then two girls, then two boys, two girls..." Huh. That's my wild child, leading the...Lunchroom Desegregation of the Sexes Movement. I didn't even inquire as to what his ultimate goal was...stimulating livelier topics of discussion? Simply mixing and mingling with interesting students in a social context? Ahem...scoring a spot next to a cute chick? (On second thought, never mind..."ignorance is bliss", and all that...)

Next, I unearthed a permission slip in his backpack, which he wanted me to sign so that he could participate in the school Chorus. I was pleased--after all, I myself L-O-V-E singing, and hoped Riley could feel the same joy that producing music gives you, blah blah blah. Besides, Derek had utterly, flatly refused to have anything whatsoever to do with Chorus, claiming it was "dumb". So, not only would this be a second chance for us to applaud our child in a concert situation, but also the group gets to perform in the Pageant of Peace on the National Mall in December, which just seems like a super-cool opportunity to me. I happily returned his sheet, without asking him any further probing questions about why he'd elected to join. I just assumed he'd inherited a teensy bit of...vocal...enthusiasm? from his mother. (Ha! Silly me!) However, at dinnertime, Husband was chatting with the boys when the subject came up again. When his father wanted to know why Riley had chosen the singing option, he nonchalantly replied, "Well, it was either that, or stay in the classroom for a grammar lesson..." I'm sorry, WHAT was that, my beloved son? Perhaps you momentarily forgot that your mother is a proud, badge-carrying member of the Grammar Police Force...those individuals for whom proper syntax is not just a hobby, but a way of life? (Okay, there may not actually be an insignia on my shirt, or anything...but it's totally understood!) He must have sensed me behind him, gaping in horror, because he quickly turned around and added, "Oh, and, um, I like singing, too!" Mmm-hmm...

So that's the most current update on the rabble-rousing...lyrical...activities of the household's 5th-grader. I can only hope that the 10-year old females he's attempting to infiltrate turn out to be a good influence on him. And that both his grammar and his glee club experiences turn out to be rewarding. Oh, and let's not forget: I pray that there's absolutely, positively NO need for the administration to get in touch with me (fingers crossed...)!

Friday, November 8, 2013

It could be a loooong Winter...

I don't know if it's the time change, or the cooler weather...or just the fact that he's a 10-year old boy...but this week has been loaded with examples of prime Riley gooberheadedness. Well, I suppose in all fairness I probably should blame the first incident at least partially on the return of The Dark Months (as they shall be called...at least by me...) You see, since we now lose all semblance of daylight by 5:30, the boys don't have as many hours to romp outside after school as they'd like. They saunter in when they can no longer see whatever ball they were throwing or kicking around, they shower...and then they gape at the clock in utter disbelief and distress, astounded that it's only 6:00 or so, and they have HOURS ahead of them with NOTHING to do. I swear, it seems like my children have suddenly forgotten how to exist when confined inside of four walls. (And all I can think of is: they would have lasted approximately one day in, say, the Little House on the Prairie era, I tell ya.) As it is, they wander through the house, quietly moping--until they burst into a vocal lament about how bored they are and how long it is until bedtime. Sheesh. I'm about to teach these boys...I don't know, macrame, or something, because they sure do need a hobby all of a sudden, and badly. (To clarify: not that I know macrame...or knitting...or any other crafty type of activity, as a matter of fact. On second thought, perhaps I'm not the best role model for this...and also, we ALL ought to learn a new pastime...)

Anyway, when faced with this scenario a few nights ago, I offered to play a card game with Riley, to while away a few minutes before he needed to turn in for the night. We settled on Uno, which he'd not yet experienced in his young life. Well. Let's just say the, ahem, "competitive gene" is strong in this one. (From which parent? I'm not saying...) There was excessive taunting. ("Ooh, draw two, how do ya like that?") There was obnoxious gloating. ("I'm winning! Whoo hoo!") And there was even an elaborate, unrestrained...victory dance when he managed to ditch of all his cards first. Also, he immediately began keeping track of everyone's Win/Loss record...and he asked to play again the following evening. Sigh. I fear we've created an Uno Monster...

However, that might just be preferable to the alternative we encountered on a different night. Riley had brought home a permission slip to participate in the Chorus at his school. This led to some discussion about singing in general (which by the way both of my sons claim to despise as a rule). But then...some crazy karaoke (um...without the machine...) broke out as Riley--with no provocation whatsoever--began belting out the lyrics to...Miley Cyrus' Wrecking Ball ("I came in like a wrecking ball, I never hit so hard in love, All I wanted was to break your walls, all you ever did was wre-e-eck meeeee"). As if this weren't horrifying enough, with the rest of his family staring at him in stunned incomprehension, he immediately changed gears and began wailing the song Slow Down...by Selena Gomez. ("Breathe me in, breathe me out...") Oh. Dear...my pre-adolescent has morphed into...a teenybopper overnight!

At this point Riley was giggling maniacally and prancing about the bedroom while his older brother and parents exchanged half-hysterical, half-perturbed glances behind his back and wondered what to make of this display. Riley seized control of the confused silence and yelled enthusiastically, "Okay, now I'll take requests!" Figuring we might as well go along with it, we started suggesting artists in rapid succession: AC/DC ("You...shook me all night long!"); Justin Timberlake ("And baby, it's amazing I'm in this maze with you, I just can't crack the code, one day you're screaming you love me loud, the next day you're so cold"); Florida Georgia Line ("Baby you're a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruuuuuise"); Lady Gaga ("I live for the applause, applause, applause, I live for the applause (plause), live for the applause (plause), live for the way that you cheer and scream for me..."); Maroon 5 ("I really wanna love somebody, I really wanna dance the night away"); Taylor Swift ("I knew you were trouble when you walked in"); the Doors ("Riders on the storm, like a dog without a bone"); Scorpions ("Here I am, rock you like a hurricane"); Rihanna ("We found Dove in a soapless place"...oh wait, that was a parody version made up by one of Derek's clever-but-silly friends...never mind...). Holy radio replay, Batman, it was downright SCARY! No matter what we threw out, he knew the correct words...and this is the child who--I thought--never listened to his iPod or even paid attention to the radio. Yet, somehow his brain is just a...musical funhouse, nonetheless.

After 20 minutes or so of this vaudeville act, Husband and I had one of those parental moments when we silently agreed to pull a strategic "Oh, would you just look at the time" ploy and send the children off to prepare for bed. (You know, now that they were all riled up from the stimulating episode of Riley's Big Variety Show...) Clearly, we've got to come up with some nice, wholesome...CALM leisure options for the cold season ahead. Either that, or I start dosing their chocolate milk with a sedative at dinner time and we all have an early lights-out...heeeyyyyyy...

Sunday, November 3, 2013

How're We Doing?

With one marking period of the school year completed, (pause for a moment: YAAAYYY! And...gulp! That was...quick...) Report Cards will be issued soon. So in the spirit of self-evaluation and improvement, I thought I'd deliver a Summary of Family Progress as well. (Because yes, I am JUST that much of a nerd...who's surprised? I suspected as much...) So here's the status thus far:

English: You'd think this one would be, well, a no-brainer, as it happens to be our Mother Tongue (and stuff). However, the Middle Schooler has been receiving unusually low grades (for him) on writing assignments from his 8th grade teacher. Husband and I have dutifully checked each one before its due date and helped Derek to edit them...yet somehow we're not pleasing his instructor. (Even with our extraordinary combined efforts...and just imagine how guilt-inducing this is for his parents, to not be doing well...in Junior High English!) This course will have to be considered an "ongoing concern", as I believe I'll need to make an appointment to chat about how to better meet the expectations of the class.

Social Studies: This quarter we've focused--by necessity--on Economics as a topic of study. There has been an ongoing unit on Consumer Affairs...as Riley continues to spend most of his allowance each month, while Derek plans to stash his away until he has accrued enough for a new iPod. Then we've had opportunities to discuss rudimentary Banking, as in "even if it costs the same as our current house, we not going to buy a mansion with a saltwater pool on a 12-acre lot  in North Carolina." (Yes, this actually came up in conversation while I was perusing Real Estate websites...) And finally, we've been forced to address some Personal Finance Matters...which is what happens when your 13-year old gains 7 inches of height in 12 months, thereby outgrowing his glasses and requiring them to be replaced...even though insurance only pays for a pair every two years and his lenses are super-ridiculously-expensive due to their unusual prescription. (Sigh...)

Science: In the carefully controlled laboratory setting--I mean "kitchen"--we continue to observe and analyze the complex relationship between fuel (in this case that would also be known as "food") and A) energy, in the short term; and B) "expansion" over time. Simply put, Husband and I watch with amazement--and no small amount of consternation--the number of calories the boys consume, the amount of running around they do, and the steady rate at which they seem to be sprouting these days. This allows for a nice cross-discipline application, of course, as it relates to Budgeting at the Grocery Store (see "Social Studies") and Maintaining Fitness (see "Physical Education").

Math: We often find ourselves attacking real-life word problems these days. Example: Two brothers are playing football in the back yard. What is the minimum number of times (t) the bigger one (D) can tackle his younger sibling (R) before R storms off and quits the game? Extra credit: What is the maximum number of occurrences (O) that Mom (M) will allow before handing down punishments (P), and how many will each offender receive? Here's another one: Suppose a student has set a goal to walk to the bus stop every day this school year (instead of being driven, as in the past). The bus typically arrives between 8:55 and 9:00. The walk generally takes just over 3 minutes. At what time (t) should the child (C) and parent (P) leave the house to ensure that they don't miss the bus? What is the optimum pace (p) for their jaunt? Extra credit: Really, what's the absolute last possible minute (m) they can bolt out the door, if P needs, say, to brew a K-cup for the hike, or is putting the finishing touches on her makeup for work, or...can't decide what shoes to wear? And then, how much must they increase their...almost-jog (j)...to make up for lost time?

Physical Education: Lots of "unofficial activity" in this category, but in terms of organized sports, the boys are playing soccer, as usual. This year Riley moved up a league, (placing him in the younger half of the grouping again) which usually results in a season of adjustments--to bigger fields, longer halves, and more experienced kids. Riley's team is holding their own, though, and showing marked improvement over where they started in September. Next week they'll play for the 3rd place slot in their last match of the year. (Go, Riptide!) Then there's Derek's squad...who went through the same situation last year in their league...but this year have therefore become the biggest, oldest kids in their bracket. In 7th grade, they pretty much got their butts kicked (ha! sorry...) each week...aannnnd, this time around, they're doing the pummeling (I mean, not literally, just in a scoreboard-kind-of-way). So it's no spoiler to announce that in their final game, they'll be vying for the championship. (Go...Fresh Wiz! Don't. Ask. Me. They're teenage boys, that's all I can say...)

Study Skills: I'm beyond delighted to report that the 5th-grader--who right up until the end of the previous school year wanted supervision during homework time, and checking of absolutely each item of his agenda--has completely taken over his own academic responsibilities. In fact, he's been soooo quietly efficient that it took me until, oh, about a week ago, to realize he hadn't asked me to look at anything at all yet. (And on the one hand I'm thrilled to be relieved of this duty...but on the other hand it's just one more way he's not so much my baby anymore...sniffle...) And even the 8th grader has figured out that when he needs supplies for a project, he must ask well enough ahead of time to schedule a trip to the appropriate store to obtain them. Also, he has realized that when he has a Spanish test, reviewing with me beforehand nets him a higher grade. And when Mom or Dad proofread your English assignments...oh right, still working on that one, never mind...

All-in-all, I'd have to say we've had a pretty successful start to the academic term. Hopefully we can maintain our momentum as the days get shorter and darker and the potential distractions multiply. (Hello, Thanksgiving break...Holiday parties...Christmas shopping...) I don't want to have to send us all to Detention...better go look over everyone's work one more time, just to be sure!

Monday, October 28, 2013

Smells like...a win!

Situated at the end of a peaceful cul-de-sac, nestled amid tall shade trees on a wide swath of grass, my home appears to be quite the harmonious suburban oasis at first glance. But inside, a battle rages every day, between the Forces of Nature (represented by Mom...um..."Environmental Warrior Queen"...or something...) and the Army of..."We Couldn't Care Less about Hazardous Chemicals or Unhealthy Food Additives, Just Buy Us the Name Brands". (Clearly, I'm going to prevail, if only because their name is so devastatingly inferior...)

In our history, these opposing groups have clashed over such seemingly innocuous items as: Pop Tarts. (Regular ones contain either partially hydrogenated oil--which is unacceptable enough--or gelatin, which is downright...icky. And guess what? Organic ones are completely gross-stuff-free...but according to the highly refined palates of my children, they "don't taste as good". My deeply sympathetic response went something along the lines of "Suit yourself, and consider this a toaster-pastry-less household...") Then there was our epic throwdown regarding marshmallows, (again with the cow parts, what the heck's up with that?) for which we recently did manage to find some creative alternatives that ended up pleasing everyone. You see, it seems that Fluff--that gooey tub of goodness--contains only corn syrup, sugar, egg whites, and vanilla, all of which pass the Mom Test for Purity (and Deliciousness, incidentally: BONUS!). As for the Hot Chocolate Conundrum, after the boys rejected the Vegan Marshmallow Experiment (whereby the nuggets are held together with carrageenan, a seaweed...the result in my opinion tasted just fine, but admittedly didn't melt all that successfully) we hit upon a time-honored favorite to rescue our cocoa: I'm talking about whipped cream, of course. Believe it or not, the stuff you spray out of a can contains real milk, and nothing on the Parental Non-Consumption List. And, well...it's whipped cream, so...YEAH!

When it comes to personal care products, I try to be just as cautious, avoiding unnecessary chemicals whenever possible. You might recall the Great Deodorant Debacle of a few months ago, which involved Riley being allowed to switch from Tom's brand (due to the fact that it just didn't work for him at all...trust me...) to the evidently oodles and oodles more desirable...Dove Men + Care. (I still put my foot....make that both feet...down on the Old Spice. Or, heaven forbid, Axe. Not. A. Chance. In. Well, you know...) This left Riley gleeful...and Derek downcast. (Okay, not really. But I did take a whole lot of grief about it nonetheless.) So when I noticed Derek's stick was--not really running low, but oddly misshapen and...just weird-looking--I bought him the same kind and slipped it in among his toiletries.

Somehow, he spotted it the moment he entered his room upon returning from school. (Absolutely astonishing--this is the boy who has literally walked right over his own possessions, then turned around and asked me where to find them...) "Is this mine?" he called across the hall. I couldn't resist, "No, I just put it in there to taunt you. Give it back." (Once again demonstrating the use of Sarcasm as Instructional Tool...completely legit, yeah?) His face broke into a delighted grin and he rushed over to (lean down and) throw his arms around me, "Yay, real deodorant! Now I won't smell like crud! Now I'll smell like sunshine...and roses!" Here I felt compelled to break in, even crushed against his shoulder as I was, "Um, it's a men's product, so probably not." He amended, "Now I'll smell like...beer...and football!" Sigh. Apparently, I made his young life complete...at least for today. And sometimes, either as a parent or even as the Environmental Warrior Queen, that's victory enough! (Because who knows, tomorrow we could totally be engaged in...the Great Shampoo Skirmish....or something...and there's just no telling how that's gonna go...)

Thursday, October 24, 2013

A surprisingly complicated commercial experience...

One of the perks of being fortunate enough to work part-time is that I've always had a few hours here and there to pop in and spy on my children--ahem...I mean "volunteer at their schools". For as long as I can remember, I've made an effort to be available once a month for each kid's particular grade level. During my stint, I'll do whatever the teacher needs, to make her life a little easier or help keep her classroom humming along. In Elementary School, of course, the volunteer process is as simple as signing up for a timeslot, showing up, and being assigned a job--I've done anything from sorting beans into cups for an upcoming science experiment, to changing a bulletin board display, to administering standardized learning tasks, to assisting students in editing their writing pieces (my personal favorite, naturally).

In Middle School, however, the opportunities for service become quite a bit scarcer. (Apparently, they don't want random parents sitting in on classes with their darling adolescent offspring--I can't imagine why not? How could that situation be fraught with peril?) So when a friend told me about the School Store gig as our kids entered 6th grade, I jumped on board. All you have to do is sit behind the counter in the cafeteria during all three lunch periods, selling pencils and notebooks and all sorts of silly novelty items to whomever approaches the window. Honestly, over time I've learned that ONLY 6th graders ever buy anything...so mostly I play games on my iPod or read a book...and of course keep a watchful eye on my own son when he saunters in for his lunch period, surrounded by his posse.

Now, keep in mind this is the third year I've been participating in this activity. And my beloved son, does he race over to greet me? Does he at least waggle a finger in my general direction? Oh, HECK, no. In fact, he Doesn't. Even. Notice. I'm. There. I'm not kidding, when I razzed him last month about failing to acknowledge the presence of his poor, crushingly-bored mother...he stared at me blankly and replied, "Oh...I forgot you were coming!" My reply: "Seriously, dude? I told you LAST NIGHT!" "Yeah," he laughed, "that was too long ago!" (Sigh...) Then he suggested, "Write me a note and put it in my lunch bag." (Wow. About that teenage boy brain...but okay, a mother's gotta do what a mother's gotta do...) So this month, I pro-actively announced that I would be showing up on Wednesday (and quickly added, "That would be 'tomorrow' for those who have no earthly clue what day it is"...and I could tell from his face that I had guessed correctly). Then I wrote a post-it that simply directed "Say 'hi' to Mom"...and attached it to his juice box.

At my scheduled time I arrived for duty and took my place among the random...junk...on which Middle Schoolers evidently want to spend their hard-earned money. The first two lunches passed with me ringing up a grand total of: $3 in sales. (Yes, yaaawwwnnn...) Then it was the appointed hour for the 8th graders to swarm the cafeteria. I stood prominently out in the open, so I would have even a snowball's chance of being noticed amongst the fray...and my child (who by the way towers over the majority of the other students at this point, so really, there's no excuse)...didn't even glance my way. After a few minutes had passed, however, I was rewarded for my patience (and correspondence) when he looked up from his meal, waited until he caught my eye...and waved. Yep, he must have reached the little pink reminder I left him. Now, I would have been satisfied with that much--I mean c'mon, he met the basic requirements for "saying hello"...in a non-verbal kind of way, right? So picture my surprise when he ambled over with a pal just a little later.

I was pleased, expecting some conversation (maybe they'd taken pity on me in my non-stimulating cubicle), maybe a bit of witty banter. HA! Silly, silly me...what actually happened was: they began pestering me for free stuff. Um...NO, I told them firmly, and sent them on their way, shaking my head at the utter obnoxious...ness...of 13-year old boys, sometimes. But did it end there? Oh, nooooo. Derek's friend approached me once more when it was almost time for them to return to class, clutching a small scrap of paper marked "Reward Dollar"--which I guess they hand out for good behavior...or something?--and asked if he could exchange it for an item. I gave him the Mom Glare, told him "absolutely not"... and only then did I notice that it belonged to another student! (So clearly I'm doing my best to thwart a budding con artist, yeah? Yay, me!) However, he had one more idea up his sleeve (sadly). This time he enlisted another boy to ask if he could (are you ready for this?) trade his cell phone for merchandise. Are. You. Kidding. Me? I shooed the little (actually, taller-than-me) schemers on their way and finally managed to beat a hasty retreat from the madhouse that is the Middle School Cafeteria.

I must say I was hardly prepared for these kinds of delicate negotiations when I agreed to sell trinkets to supposedly-innocent junior high kids. Perhaps next month I'll be much more specific with my parental instructions: come talk to me...but leave the riff-raff--I mean "your charming buddies"--behind!