Friday, March 29, 2013

Day Trippin'

My Spring Break from the college where I work occurred last week, at the midpoint of the semester. My sons' vacation coincides with the religious holidays, therefore falls this week. Usually these events add up to extra hours devoted to checking big tasks off my to-do list, a bit of solo relaxing if I'm lucky, and of course some bonus family bonding opportunities. But this year I encountered an unexpected dilemma when attempting to set aside some downtime for a Photo Field Trip...I seem to be running out of historical or natural locations that are both nearby and not-yet-toured. When I paused to ponder it for a second, I realized that this actually makes sense, since I've lived in this state my entire life, and I've been dragging my camera and/or my children around for as long as I can remember. Huh. With the A List already completed...and the B List...etc....I dug reallllly deep, and decided to take a little jaunt across the Potomac to Virginia. Of course, I've had many occasions to rub elbows with our regional neighbor, but this time I would be embarking on a quest, driving into the unexplored wilds (well, for ME, anyway)...of our county, and (dah duh duh DAH) riding a ferry across the river. (The excitement just never lets up around here, I tell ya...)

And you know what? It was pretty cool...in a dorkily entertaining kind of way. (Yeah, I own it.) I'd never taken a ferry before, so driving my car onto...what really amounted to a glorified raft, as far as I could tell...was kind of thrilling. You could see the other bank from the launch point, and the entire trip lasted approximately 5 minutes, but still, I was satisfied. Then I wound my way through the businesses and neighborhoods of Leesburg until I found my destination: Ball's Bluff Battlefield. And it was...eh. No cannons, no reconstructed buildings...heck, not even a Visitor's Center. I believe the ultimate lameness of the site can be summed up by one marker I read which admitted: the battle actually transpired completely by mistake. Evidently a Union captain skulking about in the twilight mistook a treeline for a row of enemy tents, and advised his commanding officer to attack the "undefended camp." Definitely D-list material. (In the unfortunate soldier's case, probably D-for-demoted, right?) But I got to stroll several different hiking trails, enjoy a nice view of the water, snap a few photos...and go home.

Then the exact same conundrum cropped up again, when I realized most of the boys' break had passed, without us arranging an Outing o' Fun--the horror! Yet again, I was flummoxed as to where we could go that offered potential to be both novel and amusing...I found myself briefly nostalgic for the good old days when all they needed was a playground, maybe a miniature train ride (and snacks, and diapers, and car toys...okay, never mind, I don't miss that period AT ALL.) Not to mention, we're now at the point where, when I asked them if they wanted to "do something or have a lounge about the house day", each of them told me...to ask the other one. Oh-kaaay...overwhelming ambivalence, then. After some Internet research, I hit upon a nature center that we hadn't seen, which sounded at least semi-promising. I set about selling the kids on it, with the following bribes--I mean "conditions": 1) I would feed them first and 2) that the excursion would involve only "light walking, not a forced march".These were mostly for Derek's benefit; all I had to do was mention the "amphibians and reptiles" on display, and Riley immediately got all gung-ho. As it turned out, their main objection revolved around the fact that we might have to navigate the notorious Beltway, for which they harbor extreme contempt and not a little bit of fear, due to our past experiences with horrific traffic congestion and nightmarish backups. (Which incidentally happen to be the norm for this particular road...but I find it hilarious that the people who are still years away from operating a motor vehicle have developed such strong animosity toward a local byway. Not that they're channeling me, or anything...)

However, Google Maps advised us to choose a local toll route that would dump us directly onto Interstate 95, bypassing the Highway from Hades altogether--yesssss! We were cruising along, traveling smoothly, making good time...and wouldn't you know it, progress ground to a complete halt. And started! And...stopped...repeatedly...for miles and miles. Well, that'll teach us to make a break for another county, now won't it? Eventually we passed a disabled van--completely on the shoulder, mind you, not blocking the through-lanes in any way whatsoever...and a crash on the opposite side of the divided highway, that affected us not in the slightest...but that everyone seemed to feel an undeniable compulsion to slow down and ogle. Sigh. We finally did manage to reach Watkins Nature Center and commune with the frogs, toads, turtles, fish, lizards, snakes, and birds housed in the rescue facility. And we meandered our way onto a few paths, to get a dose of the Great Outdoors on a decent March afternoon. All in all, a pleasant way to spend some time together and pass a few hours.

Next we convened the crucial team meeting back at the car to discuss the vitally important question: how the HECK can we avoid getting embroiled in the same traffic mess on the way home? I proposed two scenarios: either we reverse our route, and hope that enough time has passed for the post-accident cleanup to be completed and the snarls to have cleared...or we program "Home" into my phone's GPS and let it compute a back-road, alternate option. Not to worry--after all, we are intrepid explorers, fully committed to blazing our own trail, forging our own path, overcoming all obstacles. So we boldly, fearlessly...unanimously voted to trust the Android. Brilliant of us, as a matter of fact, since we enjoyed a trouble-free trek back to the old casa and felt quite pleased with ourselves in the process for our wise decision making.

And, feeling that we deserved it after all that excitement, we spent the remainder of the day...lounging about the house!

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Westward, Ho?

Having spent all my life in Maryland, the concepts of "Spring Break" and "March" seem to me to be a laughable oxymoron. After all, when the local college that employs me had their hiatus last week, temperatures hovered in the 40s even on the so-called first day of Spring--hardly the environment one associates with the gentle robins-and-daffodils season..much less swimsuits, sunscreen, and slushy cocktails. (Oh wait, I'm confusing my reality with MTV again--I hate it when that happens...) But the situation went right over the edge of "mildly amusing and slightly silly" to "downright ridiculous and...obnoxiously unacceptable" when my childrens' vacation week started today...with frozen white stuff floating from the sky all day long. What. The. HECK?

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Here she goes again with yet another diatribe about how much she loathes Winter, and how she suspects March to be the evil demon spawn of, say, January and February--just windier, damper, and crueler--since after all, have I mentioned it's supposed to be SPRING by now, doggone it? And don't get me wrong, I do still believe all of those things...but I've had occasion in the last few months to ruminate on topics meteorological, spiritual, and physical, specifically as they relate to the cold, dark period of the year. Along the way, I recognized a few incontrovertible facts about myself, such as 1) My body definitely experiences frigid weather more keenly as the years pass. Sometimes there aren't enough thermal layers of clothing, or steaming cups of tea, to banish my inner chill on a given day. 2) An extended bout of frosty conditions saps my energy, making me tired and lethargic.  3) (A new one) Cold weather seems to give me headaches. (This I find particularly delightful--so I can shiver, bundle up, clutch a hot drink, and sit around inside with my head pounding....exhausted and unmotivated to do anything much more than daydream about tropical islands...yaaaayyy)

As a coping mechanism, I used to vent my frozen frustration by speculating aloud how I was absolutely certain that it had to be much nicer in California--and also how I really, really, really belonged there, instead of in the icy tundra...of the Mid-Atlantic. (Um, you might have noticed I can be pretty melodramatic when it suits me. At least working up a good rant can also raise my body temperature and burn a few calories, yeah?) Husband and sons became accustomed to this and learned to take it in stride. That is, until this Winter, when they noticed that my idle chatter got a little more...focused and purposeful. I'm suddenly just not so sure how many more years I want to spend in a climate where I'm too chilly for about a third of the year, and wilting in the heat and humidity for another third. (Oh, and that stuff makes my skull pound, too. Sigh.) So today, cooped up in the house, resentfully watching the flakes out my window, I did a bit of waaaayyyyy preliminary, extremely speculatory (making up words--a definitive diagnostic symptom of "needs a warm getaway, STAT") research...into where I'd rather be at the moment.

And, after extensive, intensive...Googling...the front runners are (drum roll): Flagstaff, Arizona--where the average temperature ranges from 43 in the coldest month to 81 in the hottest. Of course, the nighttime lows range from 17 to 51, so that might be a little on the coolish side. Okay, then, moving on to: Santa Fe, New Mexico, with similar number (44-86. and 18-55). Hmm, we can do better, I think. So our final candidate (for today, anyway) will be: San Jose, California. Daytime highs from 58 in January, to 82 in July; nighttime lows from 42 to 58 in those same months. Folks, I've been spouting for YEARS how it's my fondest wish on this Earth to live in a place where I would never require a coat (granted, this is me we're talking about, so yes, I'd still have to wear  sweaters, but I'm okay with that!) and the mercury would never dip below 50 degrees. Close enough, and ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! (Incidentally, does it surprise anyone that my weather utopia lies in California? Didn't think so...) Besides, San Jose is situated a mere 50 miles from the Pacific! (Which is too cold to swim in, but hey, you can't have everything.)

Now I just have to convince my family that it's not certifiably insane, but rather boldly adventurous and positively life-changing and personally growth-stimulating...to pick up and relocate to the OTHER coast. The kids are slightly worried that Mom may have lost it; they seemed to be surreptitiously observing me today for signs of impending...flight risk. And Husband expressed a teensy bit of concern about the fact that San Jose is nestled...right between two fault lines, including the infamous San Andreas. But I told him "Pshaw, that's just part of the excitement, right?" (For the record, I didn't really say "pshaw". I just can't spell the noise that actually came out of my mouth. Thanks for the creative license.) So it seems I have my work cut out for me...perhaps a Cross-Country Family Fun Field Trip would be a good start...now secretly googling "air fare to California"...mwah hah hah!


Friday, March 22, 2013

The 7th Grade Trickle-Down Effect...

And now, as if my "bigger baby" (wait, that doesn't sound right...let's just go with "my firstborn son") wasn't growing up too fast lately, the situation has taken another alarming turn. That's right, Derek is doing the unthinkable: channeling his Middle School smart-aleck swagger, his inappropriate adolescent-boy humor, his suddenly-girl-aware self, to his younger brother (the chronological "baby" of the family...who's currently 9-1/2 years old, 4-3/4 feet tall...oh, never mind, you know what I mean.) I believe I can trace the origin of the problem to one night about a week ago, when Riley--brimming with earnest innocence--confided, "I sorta want a girlfriend, like Derek...but I don't have any good pickup lines." Oh. Dear. So many ways to respond to this...none of them the teeniest bit supportive or encouraging. A sampling of what was going on in my head as I cycled through and rejected a plethora of replies: "No, sweetie, remember: girls are ICKY!" Or "Why not just hang out with the guys; they're much more fun!" And finally "You don't really want a girlfriend...that would just take up your video game time!" But of course I didn't blurt out any of those things, because I was kind of in shock. Instead I just sat there and nodded in what I hoped was an interested-looking fashion...and fervently hoped the entire subject would just magically disappear without my having to do anything about it at all.

Alas, that was not to be. On Wednesday I picked Riley up from Lego Club, and he and Derek strolled a few steps behind me, chatting on the way to the car. This is what I overheard: Riley--"At recess today I went up to a girl and told her 'I ain't no mild salsa...I'm the hot stuff'!" I'm sorry, EXCUSE me? As a mother, this definitely counted as a forehead slapping moment, since I had to wonder just what the HECK my child gets up to while he's presumably being educated all day long. I can only assume the young lady in question rolled her eyes at him. But Derek, of course, gave an appreciative chuckle; then I heard the distinctive sound of an enthusiastic high-five being delivered, along with the praise, "Good job, bro!" (He was speaking with a certain measure of mentoring pride, as I believe he was the one who coined that awful phrase and imparted it to his sibling. Ay yi yi.)

But wait--it doesn't end there (unfortunately). Grasshopper absorbed the lessons of his revered older brother and applied them in his own unique way at school yesterday. You see, it was another 30-ish degree, windy March day and my children departed the house wearing hooded sweatshirts as their only "coat". However, Riley left his in the classroom by accident at lunchtime, thus didn't have it for outdoor recess. (Yeah, that's my boy in his cotton t-shirt...but don't blame me! I swear he has a complete Winter ensemble...that he refuses to wear!) When relaying this tale to me at home, he finished with, "So I decided I could say 'Hey, I forgot my sweatshirt...you're hot, wanna go out with me'?" Yes, folks, he came up with that completely on his own. We. Are. In. Trouble. I couldn't help it, I groaned at the sheer audacity and overwhelming cheesiness of this line. He shrugged and said, "What can I say, Derek's taught me well!" Yes, honey, and that makes me very, VERY afraid...As it turns out, Riley didn't get a chance to actually use this on any poor unsuspecting girl, since one of his soccer pals was chasing him around trying to keep his attention and convince him to play some silly game. (And by the way, thank you! I promise to pay you, little buddy...how do you like jelly beans!)

So, I know Derek sees it as his responsibility, even his job, to show Riley the ropes. I just hope the rest of us don't get burned (get it, rope burn, see what I did there?) in the process. I suspect the Birds and the Bees are about to mix it up a whole lot more than I'm ready for in the coming days...but it's all good, I guess, as long as I don't get a phone call from Riley's teacher...or the parent of a 4th grade girl...about his budding Casanova tendencies. Best Case Scenario: perhaps with Spring will come a renewed focus on the cardiovascular pursuits of outdoor sports, rather than the more romantic matters of the heart. Closing eyes, crossing fingers, and wishing...

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Candlesticks make a nice gift...

Ever since the Big Tattle, when Derek was revealed to have his very first girlfriend, the teasing has slacked off, the household gossip has dwindled, and the subject has become pretty quiet. That is, until dinner last night. GF's name just popped up in the chatter, when Derek was relaying a story about how his smart mouth had gotten him in trouble with a group of females at school. (And gosh, there's a surprise, right?) It seems a young lady was wearing an article of clothing from a certain popular collection--you know, the stuff with the word PINK splashed across the chest, or down the pants leg, or in the...ahem....posterior region. Derek--ill-advisedly opting to voice his inner thoughts without filtering them first, as usual--mused, "I don't get why it says "pink"...when it's yellow!" I imagine the reaction included both appreciative snorts from his buddies...and well-deserved scorn from the aforementioned girls...one of whom was GF. To his family, he summarized bemusedly, "That's the first fight we've ever had, and it was about clothes!"

Apparently it wasn't serious, though, since he hit me with this when I picked him up from soccer tryouts: "Um, I may have something I need to do tonight." Blissfully unaware of where this conversation was headed, I asked, "Oh, what's that?" He responded with the bombshell, "I need to get a necklace for GF, for our one month anniversary." Fortunately I'm such a calm, unflappable individual...yeah, we can all stop snickering, now...it's just a good thing I didn't swerve off the road, is all I'm saying. But my immediate, shareable reaction was something along the lines of, "A necklace for one month? Isn't that setting the bar a little high, honey? How about some nice chocolates?" He replied that she doesn't like chocolate (What? Fatal Character Flaw alert!) and that his buddy, who happens to be her neighbor and has known her a long time, made the gift suggestion. Sadly, I had to then inform him that logistically, this was not possible, as the prospects for acquiring jewelry in our immediate locale were, shall we say, slim to none. And there was just No. Stinkin'. Way. we were trekking to Tar-zhe on a school night.

So, we brainstormed for a while, and he texted furiously back and forth with his pal to obtain further inspiration. Finally a satisfactory compromise was provided by the friend's mother, who floated the idea of flowers and a gift card for a local ice cream place. That being decided at last, I flew out the door to yoga, with the parting command, "Text me if you need me to pick that up for you on my way home!" Which led to me receiving my very first text message EVER from my older son, sort of a test transmission, if you will. And what delightful, heartwarming words did my beloved child choose to bestow upon his mother? (Wait for it....) "Sup homeslice." (Sigh. Yet I'll probably still save and treasure it forever...) Anyway, when I returned from class, I found that the Male Posse had ventured out into the wilds of...our hometown...and completed the purchases. However, not without a bit of a spectacle, as it was reported to me. They visited T.J. Maxx, Homegoods, and the Hallmark store, where evidently nothing grabbed Derek and screamed "1-month Anniversary". However, according to the captive audience--I mean "children"--Husband wandered about the store pointing out random items and loudly proclaiming things like "A wicker monkey? That would be perfect!" (I can only imagine what the poor Staff thought of this nonsense. Soooo glad I was om-ing instead!) And here's the evidence:


Oh. My. Goodness. I'm trying to focus on the "isn't my son such a sweet boy" aspect of this whole affair, rather than be horrified that my almost-13-year-old just spent 21 bucks (of his hard-earned allowance money) on a GIRL he's been "DATING" for a MONTH. Not that they've actually gone on any "dates"...maybe an ice cream outing is in their near future...with Mom...who's now going to focus on her zen state and maybe some deep cleansing breaths. Or maybe I'll just initiate the brand new policy of "you're grounded until age 30", instead. It could honestly go either way at this point, so stay tuned!

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Call Me, Maybe?

Here's a little tale about how, after maybe two years of Derek trying to cobble together a rational argument about why he needs a cell phone...actively prodding us at any available opportunity in a transparent attempt to wear down our defenses...throwing out discussion items from every conceivable point on the scale from "absolutely reasonable" to "downright ridiculous"...he suddenly tugged us over to his side at long last...in a completely unplanned fashion. Yes, where all his concentrated efforts and strategic sparring failed, he won the battle of wills in a typical teenage boy way--spontaneously, accidentally, with no forethought or consideration of the consequences. Let me explain: when Derek first began petitioning us for his own phone, many of his friends already had theirs. We, his Parental Units, of course dismissed that particular point as totally irrelevant. Over time, however, it became clear that he is, in fact, "the only person he knows without a phone." We (hard-hearted people that we are) remained somewhat unsympathetic ("eh, so you're in an exclusive club...of uncool kids...you'll surely survive...") Still, since I arrange my work schedule so that we can arrive home around the same time, our conversations have easily and effectively been accomplished either face-to-face or utilizing a good old fashioned thing called the "landline". (Yes, we still have one of those. Shocking, right?) BUT...several elements converged this week in a Perfect Storm of Communication Snafus, if you will, that led to parental consternation, frustration, and finally capitulation.

First, my beloved child missed the after-school bus one day. How did he manage this, you might ask? I never got a good answer to that, except to infer that he was fooling around with his pals at the time and didn't hear his route called. And how did my newly autonomous son--who's stretching his little wings of freedom these days--solve the dilemma? Why, he determined that it was a brilliant idea to walk home...with his buddy A, who'd also missed out on his free county-provided transportation (probably while rough-housing with Derek). Now, school's only, maybe 1.5 miles away, say a half-hour walk at an idle, chatting pace. But still. Would I have appreciated knowing where he was, when he didn't saunter in at his usual time? Did I wonder what was going on? Was I just a teensy bit worried? In the ongoing "Derek needs a cell phone" contest, Derek--1, Mom--0.

Then there were tryouts for his school soccer team. He would be staying after dismissal for this, which he has never done before. Naturally he was unable to relay to me anything about the particulars--you know, crucial information such as "what time you'll be done so I can pick you up". There's an activity bus, but we have no idea how that even works, so basically we were 100% in the dark about this little endeavor. And let me tell you, as a parent, I LOVE not having a clue where or when to retrieve my child. So it was decided that Derek would take his father's cell phone to school with him, and call or text me at the moment he needed a ride. At first Derek actually had the sheer gall to complain about this--"Dad's phone? But...it has his contacts in it! What if they call me? he sputtered. Then (visibly growing more agitated) "What if I put my friends' numbers in, and Dad calls them?" After snorting in a juvenile and thoroughly unladylike manner, I assured him that Husband has--how shall I phrase this--less than ZERO interest in making inane small talk with his 7th grade buddies. He seemed placated, although a hint of suspicion continued to ever-so-slightly darken his expression. Anyway, like a responsible mom, I hovered near the house phone and checked my cell regularly so I wouldn't miss the "come get me" summons. Which never came. Instead, he hopped out of his rec-league coach's car at the end of our driveway and moseyed into the house. We then proceeded to have Important Talk #1, about how a cell phone can be such a very useful tool, to actually Contact. Your Mother. and let her know you'll be carpooling with an approved substitute parent.

The next incident was innocently triggered by a nice Spring-ish day. On Friday the weather was around 55 degrees in the afternoon, with sunshine gamely striving to beat out the slightly chilly breeze. Since soccer trials had been suspended until next week, Derek had left the phone at home. While I was taking a brief nap, he called (using a friend's cell) and "asked" if he could walk over to M's house (basically across the street from his school) to play for a while. Evidently in his mind he equated the fact that he'd left a message to mean he had actually received approval for this plan, since he didn't show up after that. Sigh. Eventually he and his partner-in-crime, the infamous A (as he shall hereafter be known...okay, he's a really sweet kid, I'm just joking) showed up nonchalantly at our house, having strolled here on their own again. That's it, I'm writing down all of your friends' cell phone numbers...and you're carrying Dad's...I mean YOUR phone from this point forward. This led to Important Talk #2, a multi-pronged lecture covering pedestrian safety, a refresher on stranger danger, and a new topic, "you may NOT hang out at someone's house unsupervised" (also known as: "yes, honey, you may absolutely bring your goofball--I mean delightful--friends over here...and I will happily keep my eye on all of you...gently steering you toward rowdy football in the back yard...rather than delinquency on the streets....or something like that...") And yes, I might as well go ahead and concede: Game/Set/Match to Derek.

Now I suppose we'll need to prepare Important Talk #3: cell phone etiquette and proper usage. Oh, and we'll have to warn Husband's work and family contacts, so they don't unexpectedly try to get in touch with an adolescent boy...who certainly won't call them back anyway! I suspect we're going to be exploring and smoothing out this uncharted territory for a while...and making notes for the inevitable Important Talk #4...which hopefully will not revolve around "Cell Phone Infractions, Related Loss of Privileges, and Duration Thereof"...fingers crossed...

(And the moral of the story? Good things come to those who wait...and drive their parents nuts...without actually doing anything wrong...oh, forget it, that's a terrible lesson...)

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Laugh it up, Fuzzball...

At the end of a long, busy day--chock full of family care and household management and part-time work and exercise and...the other unidentified stuff that somehow occupies all of my time--nothing pleases me more than climbing into bed, tugging the covers up to my chin, curling into a ball, and falling deeply into a restful, restorative slumber. (Can I get an "amen"...or at least a yawn of total agreement?) Now, over the years Husband and I have learned to deal with some of the standard "sharing a sleeping space with another human being" issues. Such as: unlike back in the (waaayyy) bygone Courting Days, when it was cute and romantic to snuggle with tangled limbs all night long, I now require a restricted-zone around my person in order to achieve blissful unconsciousness. Forget snuggling--no wandering elbows or feet allowed within range after lights-out. (Hence the purchase of a King-sized bed pretty much the second after we signed the mortgage papers for our house all those years ago.) And of course we experience the typical Male/Female conundrum with regards to temperature. Husband prefers to retire in skivvies, whereas my bedtime wardrobe runs the gamut from a breezy t-shirt/shorts combo in the Summer to light long-sleeved, long-pants pjs Spring and Fall...to full on fleece body armor for Winter. And the possible permutations for sheets and blankets--weights, materials, textures? Don't even get me started!

Yet, with occasional negotiation and compromise we've been able to resolve these little differences over the years and continue occupying the same mattress (albeit each on our own sides, happily snoozing away). However...the other night we had both turned in at the same time (a rare occurrence, as Husband tends to keep later hours than I do). I was just drifting off into dreamland, when I was shocked back into alertness by the Most. Horrible. Noise. It was a loud, strident kind of sound...emanating suspiciously from the direction of Husband's pillow. The best way I can describe it for you is: picture Chewbacca. Now visualize someone poking him with a big stick, and the kind of vocal protest that would ensue. It was just like that. Clearly, something had to be done immediately to end the torment. (And by that, I mean MINE. Although to be honest, in my head I was thinking, "Oh, go ahead and KILL the Wookie, already! Too harsh? You lucky you didn't hear it...shudder...) So I took the obvious route...and jabbed Husband in the ribs. Before you get all, "that's spousal abuse! what's wrong with you?"--we have actually agreed upon this tactic as an acceptable one in the (thankfully) rare instances when Husband snores (usually temporarily, due to a head cold). So what I'm saying is: he's OKAY with it, people! In this case, though, the punishment--that is "behavioral encouragement"--sadly had no effect whatsoever on Chewie.

But as I lay there, tensed for another wail of...snotty-nosed-pain...or whatever...Husband finally got the message (I might have gently whacked him on the shoulder in the interim, just as another subtle, loving hint that he should roll over and shut the heck up, right this minute) and heaved himself onto his side, putting a blessed end to the racket. Of course, I haven't the foggiest IDEA how a 5 foot 11, 145 pound man can rattle an entire bedframe--somewhat like the Titanic hitting that dang iceberg, I imagine--in the simple act of rolling over. It must be a special gift...but that's a whole other story.

Don't get me wrong, of course I'm sympathetic to someone who's not feeling well and thereby prevented from experiencing a peaceful night of sleep. All I'm saying is...next time I'm considering bringing a lightsaber to bed...that'll teach the Wookie!

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Springing for joy

Oh my gosh, everybody...(that is, the vast crowd of you--10 brave souls or thereabouts--who pop in and pay attention to my rambling nonsense on a regular basis...Hi there! I appreciate you guys! Where was I? Oh, yeah...) would you believe this is my five-hundredth post? Holy pages-and-pages-of-virtual-silliness, Batman! I feel like this milestone deserves some kind of commemoration, like a deeply heartfelt introspection into the journey I've traveled thus far, the direction I'm headed, and what it all means. But then I remember: it's still just my life, with in all its mundane day-to-day routine...albeit punctuated by frequent periods of extreme goofiness. What HAS changed since my first endeavor on September 5th, 2008: Riley was a babyfaced 5-year old, about to kick off the next 13 years of confinement--that is, "his educational career"--in Kindergarten, boarding a school bus for the first time. Derek was a short, skinny 8-year old 3rd grader. Husband and I...were four years younger than our current numbers. As they say, "that was then", so here's a roundup of the week in anecdotes to sum up the "NOW" (culled from a collection of paper scraps and sticky notes I've scribbled and placed strategically on and around my writing desk...so really, my objective is to clean up my workspace...and hopefully be amusing at the same time...'cuz ya gotta have goals...):

Rhetorical question of the day: how much are we done with Winter? I will illustrate using my convenient experimental test subjects. (Darn it, I mean children!) They behave like typical siblings--by turns enjoying each others' company and fighting like wild animals (often in the same 15-minute span). This is of course compounded by the fact that their outdoor time has been limited by unfavorable weather conditions of late. After one of their recent spats, during a day when they just could not seem to get along, no matter what game they attempted to play or which activity they tried, I separated them for their own good. (And mine, since locking one's beloved offspring out of the house tends to be frowned upon by people of authority...such as the Police....) Derek retreated to his room to read or listen to music or brood--who cares, he was quiet and not pestering anyone. But I observed Riley wandering around the house, head down, muttering softly under his breath. Curious, I approached him to try to ascertain what he was saying, and this is what I heard: a bouncy, lilting tune of his own creation, with the lyrics "Life would be so much bettttteeerrrrr, without the other child that lives with me!" Of course they were back together within the half-hour, having forgotten whatever intense argument had led to their temporary estrangement...but I had that stupid little ditty stuck in my head for the rest of the day...what can I say, it's catchy...and I totally understand and can sympathize with the sentiment, on occasion...

Not that Derek the almost-teenager actually minds spending time these days in his room with the door closed...and his iPod. He's had the texting app for a few weeks now, and out of the blue it occurred to me: I could actually use this to communicate with him...if I only had his phone number. When I inquired, however, he got all evasive, rather than instantly coughing up his contact information as I expected my obedient son to do. (Pause for sarcastic laughter. Continue...) As I stared at him, perplexed by his reticence, I asked, "Well, are you going to tell me your number?" His noncommittal reply: a thoughtful, drawn-out "evennnn...tually". Humph! I can't imagine any possible reason why you wouldn't want your mother texting you at random times--checking up on what you're doing, interrupting your conversations with friends, asking inane questions to which she yes, absolutely expects a response...oh, wait a minute...And then he compounded the insult by setting a secret passcode that would be required to unlock his iPod before it could be accessed. What, don't you trust me, sweetie? But I felt better when he confided that the procedure was to ensure that his brother couldn't mess with the device without Derek's permission. And he whispered the private code to me. So I felt much better. It seems I've been granted a reprieve from the cagey, uncommunicative teenage boy years that I dread, for at least a little longer. (Phew!)

Finally, I'll end on an optimistic note. (Kind of like on the Local News programs, when they make lame attempts to counteract all the reports of murder and mayhem by sharing the heartwarming tale of an adorable puppy saving and nurturing a nest of baby birds. But then again, not like that at all...nevermind...) This weekend we've experienced Spring-like temperatures and sunshine that actually warms your skin. (Unlike those pretend-rays that Winter tries to pass off on us, which provide light without any heat at all. Thanks, but no thanks!) The boys have been able to run amok in the yard and the neighborhood. Spirits have lifted considerably. (Okay, here I'm mainly talking about me. I don't actually believe I have the condition known as Seasonal Affective Disorder, I just get...grumpy...and tired...in the cold months...yeah, maybe just a touch of SAD...)

I was even motivated to drive to a nearby park and do my 3-ish mile run on the trail, due to a boost in energy and enthusiasm prompted by the nice weather. I shared the path with many others--people walking dogs-of-all-sizes; bikers; families strolling with children from toddlers to teens; and of course other joggers and walkers. I set off through the woods, reveling in the lovely early-evening, and put in my pavement-pounding time. When I was almost finished, approaching the last little rise before returning to my starting point and cooling down, I passed an elderly, grandparent-looking couple sitting on a bench to my right. At that moment I couldn't remember if they'd been there when I began, but I think they must have been, because as I approached, huffing a bit and using my final reserves of pep for the last push, I made eye contact with the woman and she smiled and congratulated me, "Good job!" Aww, thanks, friendly stranger! And those are just a few of the myriad reasons I love Spring: increased time in the fresh air, a return to pleasant outside conditions, and overall improvement in peoples' moods and attitudes. Oh, and as of today, more afternoon daylight--bonus!

So, here's to the next 500 posts. (!!) I wonder where they'll take us...stay tuned!

when I set off on my blogging adventure...

and here we are today!

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

It's Snow Joke...(ha!)

Remember when I sternly admonished March (oh, all of two days ago) about her erratic weather behavior and obnoxious proclivity to cling to Winter, rather than letting go of all that nasty cold and allowing the warm breath of Spring to take over? Yeah, she's a stubborn b...attleax. Yesterday we experienced a brief window of sunny skies and 50*, during which I was able to go running and happily pretend the snowy season was firmly behind us. However...we leaped straight from those conditions to a Winter Storm Warning, with predicted snowfall of up to 10 inches for our area. What the WHAT? The Weather Gods are clearly playing some kind of twisted meteorological prank on us...and it's soooooo NOT FUNNY!

So we waited--with a mixture of dread (me), cynicism (the jaded youngsters, whose enthusiasm for the white stuff has been systematically beaten down over the past two practically-flake-less Winters), and just a smidge of anticipation (all of us, at the prospect of finally being excused from school and work for an official Snow Day). When we retired for the night, nary a drop of any precipatory sort had fallen from the sky...but we awoke to the sight of puffy frozen particles being swirled about by icy winds...and the notification that both the county schools and the college that employs me were closed due to "expected worsening conditions throughout the day". Well, then. The boys hunkered down to await that critical moment--at which the amount of white stuff on the ground would warrant freeing the never-been-used foam saucer sleds from their perches on the garage wall. Or enough for a snowball fight. A snowman. Anything, really; they weren't feeling too picky at this point. But although we watched...for hours...the outside world just got wetter...and slushier...and sloppier. The snow never really piled up in such a way as to encourage layering on the necessary gear to brave the outdoors and romp in it. Sigh. So let's recap: we got an unacceptably late-season snowstorm, that was a total bust in terms of entertainment. Stupid. March.

Okay, then--what DID the charming young men do with themselves all day? Oh, you know, the usual: bicker, video games, basement basketball, argue, get separated and sent to your rooms, eat, read, fight. (Sensing a pattern?) I know I mentioned Cabin Fever in my last post; but let me tell you, I had no idea how much worse it could get...until even the sound of my darling childrens' voices was enough of an irritant to scrape my very last raw nerve. How desperate was the situation? I dragged them grocery shopping with me--a perilous activity I've avoided for years, just to get them out of the house and provide a change of scenery. How did that go, you might wonder? Suffice it to say we got into a minor skirmish in the cereal aisle because, although the makers of the Pop Tart brand have wisely decided to remove the partially hydrogenated oil, (my previous argument for refusing to buy them--not the 97 grams of sugar, or lack of any redeeming nutritional value, or the like) they still contain...gelatin. And I'm sorry, I simply don't see any reasonable excuse for including leftover cow bits in my breakfast. Just...no. (Incidentally, I made what I thought to be a perfectly acceptable counteroffer: organic toaster pastries....which I used to feed them all the time, back when they were younger...more pliable...and less defiantly opinionated. And why did Derek reject my generous substitution? "It doesn't say 'Pop Tart' on the box." Grr...)

So here we are at the end of the day, unsure of the school status for tomorrow--but at least one person (that would be ME) is preparing as though everyone's out the door in the a.m. Lunches made, homework stowed in backpacks, alarms set, bedtime approaching (hallelujah). All I know for sure is: they'd darn well better go off to their respective corners--I mean "institutions of learning and whatnot"--because clearly they spent waaaayyyy too much time in each others' company for the past 12 hours. How do I know? As Riley bounded upstairs after dinner, he breezily called, "I'm gonna go take a hot shower. But wait, I'm already hot!" Derek bent double with appreciative howls of laughter, then straightened up long enough to proudly cry, "High five, bro!" Yeah...I don't need TWO smart-mouthed adolescents cooped up inside...with me...for another day. Now please excuse me while I go find and bribe the driver of a passing salt truck...

Monday, March 4, 2013

In like a lion, alright...

Oh, March...(weary, disappointed sigh) I just hate it when you spectacularly fail to surpass my low expectations. I mean, really, would it kill you to try even a tiny bit harder? Think about it--any old underachieving month...February, for example...could do 32* and blustery. Why not challenge yourself and strive for something better? Work with me, here!

That being said, Team WestEnders doggedly plodded through the first frosty weekend of March. (Which actually differed very little from the previous month's delightful weather offerings...perhaps I'll just begin referring to it as Son of February. Do you think that adequately conveys its dastardly nature and my contempt for its cruel, fickle ways? Or is that just me being melodramatic? Yeah, it happens...) The most notable outdoor pursuit involved Derek and Husband participating in a Trail Maintenance Workday at a nearby lake where we happen to hike freqeuntly. I signed Derek up for several of these throughout the "Spring", thinking we could accomplish several key goals: enjoy some exercise and fresh air; demonstrate our appreciation and concern for the County Park system that we employ as our natural playground on a regular basis; and accrue service hours towards the 75 Derek needs before high school graduation. Somewhat ironically, the first scheduled date (in that F-month who shall no longer be named) was postponed until April--due to a cold, soaking rain on the appointed day. (Yay! Dodged an icy bullet on that one...) So I fully intended to accompany him this past Sunday...until I realized the forecast called for sub-freezing temps and more of that blasted wind. Ahem...Husband? Looks like this requires...um...real He-Men! Yeah, that's it! As it turned out, when they fulfilled their obligation by showing up for duty as promised, they were rewarded for their reliability by being assigned the glorious task of DIGGING DITCHES...for three-and-a-half hours. Soooooo glad I wimped my way out of that one. And I realllyyyy hope next time we're....picking up pollution...or planting pretty flowers...or even pulling pesky weeds (fingers crossed).

Fortunately, the remainder of the weekend's events took place in the warmth of the house. (For which I am unfailing grateful, don't get me wrong...although I'm beginning to recognize telltale signs of Cabin Fever amongst the restless natives these days...myself included...more on that later.) There were brother activities, some of which inevitably involved bugging Mom. For instance, Derek: "Can I buy Assassin's Creed?" (delivered with a gigantic grin, so he clearly already knew the answer...but I didn't miss the opportunity to glare at him anyway.) But wait, he hadn't arrived at the punchline yet: "It's rated M...for Mom Approved!" Nice try, sweetie, and by the way, still NOOOOOO. Then Riley helpfully piped up, "Derek should be able to play T games, since he'll be a teenager soon!" Thanks ever so much for your help...now go clean your room, or something.... Speaking of which, I know the boys are getting bored and stir-crazy, as Riley--my little packrat...I mean "collector of unique and interesting....junk"--took it upon himself to reorganize his desk, closet, and bookshelves. Of course, he had an ulterior motive: "Can I get a Lego police car for Easter, to add to my city?" Uh-huh, I see how it is...but wait, let's think this through...Legos lead to quiet creative (dare we say "educational"?) play in one's room...sure, honey, that sounds like a brilliant idea! As for Derek's "alone time", these days it involves listening to music and/or texting incessantly with his friends. (The iPod having become somewhat of a permanent fixture in his hand--should I worry?)

All I can say is, we're collectively nearing the end of our frozen rope, holding on with frostbitten hands, pining for the joyful moment when Spring bursts onto the scene. And how is our patience acknowledged? With a mixture of #@%$& snow,sleet, and rain predicted for tomorrow night and Wednesday. I can only hope that it's Winter's last hurrah as it slips and slides on out of here, making way for its more pleasant cousin to breeze in and take over (raising a mug of hot tea in offering to the Weather Gods...)