Sunday, June 30, 2013

Boats and the Bay

After Friday night's Maryland Monsoon, I peeked out the window of my hotel room with no small amount of trepidation upon awaking Saturday morning. Hmm, no water falling from the sky...yet...but puffy, blackish, "don't even think about taunting me, I could let loose at any moment" clouds hovered overhead. I had an agenda, though, and could not be thwarted. At least, not until after I took advantage of one of the very best perks of staying away from home--that's right, two little words: Free. Breakfast. Having accomplished fueling my body and caffeinating my brain, I headed toward St. Michaels for Day 2 of Operation Eastern Shore Exploration.

My handy-dandy guidebook informed me that St. Michaels earned the nickname "The Town That Fooled the British" during the War of 1812. According to the lore, residents doused all of the ground lights during one attack and suspended lanterns in the trees, causing the Redcoats to aim their guns too high and completely miss the village itself. Plucky, resourceful colonial spirit--L-O-V-E it! Nowadays St. Michaels functions as a center for farming and fishing...oh, and tourism, of course. When I pulled into my (free, no time-limit, yaaayyy) parking spot at about 9:45 a.m., the atmosphere seemed sleepy and slow-moving. That would change by about noon, however, as the streets and sidewalks filled up and overflowed with visitors. Clearly the place thrives on this kind of attention, as the main thoroughfare consists of the following: specialty clothing boutique...cafe...quirky knick-knack store....restaurant...unique gift emporium...pub, etc. The city is built for commerce, but not in an overtly-commercial, crass kind of way; it retains its charm with brick sidewalks, old-fashioned wooden buildings, and bright, colorfully-painted facades. Adding to the nostalgic character, you couldn't walk more than three feet without passing either A) someone walking a dog; B) a biker pedaling the strip on a rented, throwback-type Schwinn cruiser; or C) small children eating ice-cream on a stick. Yeah, the "cute factor" was kind of off the charts, I gotta say.

And of course, the biggest draw for me: the WATER. I don't know what it is, exactly, but being near a natural body of water--lake, pond, river, ocean, bay, anything bigger than a puddle, really--makes me very, very happy. The extra special bonus in this case was the presence of boats. I don't generally feel a craving to be ON a water-going vessel, but there's just something about watching sailboats gliding smoothly along that brings me a sense of peace and contentment. It's like...my own form of hydrotherapy....or something.... So I spent a large chunk of time on the docks, gazing out upon the rippling surface of the Chesapeake, observing the billowing sails, admiring the gorgeous clouds--which had effected a 180-degree attitude change and were now pristinely white, marshmallowy balls of goodness on the horizon...ahhhhhh.

Thus thoroughly satisfied with my excursion, I took my leave of St. Michaels to return to my own 'burb. These little run-away-from-home incidents--(I mean "educational and creatively-stimulating solo photographic trips")--just short breaks from my everyday life and responsibilities, really, nevertheless are crucial to my well-being. I find that they act to restore and refresh me, mentally and emotionally more than anything. Then I am able to face the laundry and grocery shopping and...all the other stuff on my To Do List...with a clear head and vastly-improved outlook. But first, maybe a little bit of baseball on TV...it can't be healthy to just rush right back into things too quickly, right? Now if someone could just pass me a nice iced tea...after all, my dirty clothes aren't going anywhere!

Friday, June 28, 2013

Ready for my solo

On Wednesday, the boys flew away for their annual visit to Club Spoil-Me-Rotten, where Husband's parents dote shamelessly upon them for six days or so. During their stay they can request absolutely any kind of food they desire. (Especially things they're not allowed to eat at home due to the questionable nutritional content or unacceptable ingredients...) They are free from all responsibility. And the kids are guaranteed to come back with souvenirs, courtesy of their indulgent grandparents. I've gotta say, it's a sweet gig. But while they're away, I have sort of a mini-vacation myself. Sure, the first couple of days I spend catching up on..."domestic engineering tasks"--you know, the really awesome stuff like running the oven, dishwasher, and washing machine self-clean cycles...laundering the shower curtains...vacuuming the fridge coils...yeah, never mind, it sucks. But then, THEN I always schedule my own little getaway, somewhere fun and photogenic, where I can spend an overnight in a hotel and do nothin', and take care of nobody. Having already made the Presidential Tour (Mt. Vernon, Monticello, Montpelier), and also having covered every Civil War site from Gettysburg to Atlanta, I was a little stuck trying to come up with a venue this year.

After Googling and scrutinizing maps and skimming tour books, I finally settled on St. Michael's, a reportedly quaint, historical, cute little fishing town on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. So this morning I packed up the Subaru and pointed us eastward. Except for a relatively brief-but-annoying backup on the Interstate 495 (also known in these parts as "the Beltway...from Hell") for no apparent reason whatsoever, the journey went smoothly and pleasantly. I planned to stay in a nearby city on Friday night, then explore St. Michael's all day Saturday. Thus I checked in to my lodging (took a nap--shhhh! It's my Day to Play, I can do whatever I darn well please!) and figured out what to do with my free hours. My first executive decision took me into Easton, to explore the older section of town. After I meandered around the brick sidewalks for a while, soaking up the old-timey feel, the thunder and menacing clouds I'd been successfully ignoring up to that point chose to make a bolder statement by unleashing a shower. So I retreated to my car to consult my phone's GPS for instruction on how to locate the next stop: Pickering Creek Audubon Center.

This side jaunt began innocently enough, on routes with state-issued numbers. But then the scenery abruptly shifted to a much more rural tableau, with tall trees lining both sides of the narrow road and small, widely-spaced houses dotting the landscape. Next, the yellow dividing lines...disappeared. "Oh...kay", I brazenly announced (to my empty car...yeah, I do talk to myself, so what?), "I'm an experienced, intrepid explorer in an off-road-ready vehicle, bring it on!" Aaannnnnd the subsequent turn brought me to a gravel road. Now, I'm gazing around me and I can't help thinking, "Hmm, this looks like the kind of place...where they'll NEVER find the body..." Alrighty, then, where's all that delightful nature, and whatnot? (I was somewhat reassured when, on the path that led to the supposed Information Office, I had to yield the right-of-way to both a deer and a bunny...adorable, non-threatening fauna....)

I knew the official Visitor's Center hours had passed, so I just meant to find a promising hike and stretch my legs a bit. Map in parking lot: check. 1.8 mile loop selected: check. And with that, off into the (already puddly) woods I went. My first clue that this might not be the relaxing, meditative stroll I was hoping for was: spiderwebs. Can I just tell you how much I L-O-A-T-H-E them? Next, there were aggressive--for all I know "bloodsucking" as well--flies dive-bombing my head every few feet. And then, as if I weren't jumpy enough, I would periodically encounter some kind of sticky weed that would grab onto my shins. So...there I was...tiptoeing along, waving my arms at the damn bugs, shrieking when I ran into a spiderweb, and leaping off the ground twitching my legs to dislodge the stupid clingy grass-things (and, of course--in my very best Mom Voice--sternly admonishing the whole of the Great Outdoors to go away and leave me the heck alone). I swear I must have looked like the Crazy Lady of the Forest. (Oh, except that actually, I was brandishing my umbrella like a weapon to ward off the...evil dangerous vegetation. Because c'mon, even if you're bat-poo loony, that's no excuse for being...meteorologically unprepared...in the wild...or some such nonsense...)

Anyway, this was all so very, very enjoyable (not even the slightest tiniest bit); so really, it was no great shock when the heavens opened up and started dumping lakefuls of water down to Earth. Imagine the clouds were fitted with a gigantic zipper, and all the water had pooled up there, until someone pulled the tab and allowed it to come rushing down all at once. Yeah, it was like that. Reaaallllly, really...a sopping wet kind of time. And ever so much fun to drive back to the hotel in, too (she chirps, extremely sarcastically). I mean, I could sort of see the pavement, so it was fine...and as you can imagine, that was quite enough excitement for one day. I'm now dry, clean, fed, and resting up for whatever adventure tomorrow may bring. (Please please please let there be no spiders!)

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

5K, Take 2...

Having survived--nay, totally relished--our first foray into family racing Memorial Day weekend, Team WestEnders bravely committed to another 5K in June. Since everyone successfully completed the "test run", if you will, we had no further concerns on that front. For this outing, the goals were more personal. Let's take Derek, who had kept a leisurely pace with his dad and younger brother last time. He decided that he was going to run at his own speed, to see what his individual best would turn out to be. Knowing that he would rocket out of the (metaphorical) starting gate and disappear in a (probably literal) cloud of dust, I bid him farewell, wished him a good race...and threw in a hasty reminder to just follow the crowd and turn when the volunteers pointed out a change of direction in the course. Husband kindly agreed to run with Riley again--both for encouragement if required and to help our least experienced runner maintain a steady speed (i.e: refrain from sprinting in the excitement of the moment...and pooping out too early). And me? Eh, I'm perfectly content to cross the end line. (Okay, okay, I wanted to do it in under 30 minutes, are you happy?Sheesh, the pressure...)

On Run Day, we had our routine distilled down to the most efficient, rapid, essential steps: 1) Wake up; 2) Get Dressed; 3) Munch a banana and swig a hydrating beverage of choice (For the males, this meant Gatorade. Since coffee was out of the question until post-exercise, I opted for iced tea. What? It's chock full of antioxidants...and stuff...so it's a health drink, right?) Naturally, Derek ate a cereal bar as well. However, we inadvertently had made an important discovery during a training jog a few days earlier--Riley can't eat before running or he gets a cramp...exactly like his mother...and his father. (So in summary, the only one who can scarf down anything he darn well pleases before exerting himself...is Derek the bottomless pit. "But I'm so surprised!"...said no one at all...) Then all we had to do was meander over to the site--a mile from our house--and wait for the start.

Unlike last month's event, in which the route wound its way through neighborhood streets, this course began and ended with a half-mile over grassy fields. The uneven terrain proved challenging for someone like me,who only ever runs on paved or smooth-dirt surfaces...and who also strikes the ground with the balls of her feet, rather than in the traditional heel-to-toe manner. (Don't ask me why; I know it's weird, but it just feels right...) Paying extra attention to my footing, and being careful not to twist my ankles, required an unexpected amount of surplus energy, I found. Then, there were some hills. And you did already gather that these things take place fairly early in the morning, yeah? (Which is sooooo my favorite time of day...N-O-T...) So let's just say there was some spirited self-talk going on in my head...something along the lines of "you've got this, just keep going, it doesn't matter at ALL how slow you feel...but look, you're still passing some people!" (Um, it's reeeealllly hard to completely shut down an intrinsically competitive nature, what can I say?) While the temperature felt cool-ish, it was tremendously (read: "disgustingly, drippily") muggy, which also tends to wilt me a bit...so the arrival of rain showers in the middle of the run actually came as a welcome relief.

And then, the blessed Finish Line (duh duh duh DA). Derek of course was waiting, having logged a time of 24 minutes. I know: Holy smokin' sneakers, Batman, that boy can fly! Husband and Riley had clocked a very nice 28.5, but that wasn't the awesome part of their conclusion. Having apparently consumed the proper breakfast for optimal pep and stamina, Riley spent the entire 3.1 miles attempting to speed up and blow past his dad. But Husband kept him on a tight leash, concerned that Riley would miscalculate and end up wanting to quit because he was too exhausted. With the end in sight, however, Riley reportedly turned to Husband and declared, "There can be only one winner!" He then proceeded to kick it into high gear to cross the finish line alone, leaving Husband panting in his wake. (Okay, so "competitive" is genetic, alright?) Annnnnnd, I trotted in soon after, at about 29:14 (achieving my ever-so-modest target) and we patted ourselves on the collective back for another (fitness) job well done. For our reward, there were some free snacks donated by a local grocery store...and for me, my long-awaited JAVA!

Perhaps most importantly, we were able to grant ourselves the remainder of the (Sun)day for rest, recovery, and relaxation. Ahh, now that's my kind of rigorous running regimen...

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Life Skills, the early edition...

After waiting with bated breath for several agonizingly slow weeks--the days seeming to drift by at the pace of, say, a butterfly floating on a Summer breeze--we finally heard it, the clarion call of freedom--I mean "the final dismissal bell of the school year". With that glorious signal, we wasted no time at all in chucking our schedules and routines out the proverbial window (with an abundance of gusto, I might add) and melting into pure, blissful relaxation mode. Oh wait...that's just the boys who began staying up later at night, sleeping in, lounging around in their pjs, and generally taking it easy. Would you believe, Husband's employer still expects him to show up and take care of business every day, no matter what the calendar might say, or how compelling the siren call of the pool? (I know: Oh, the inhumanity!) And while my job does lighten up at the end of Spring Semester, I still mosey in to campus to log some hours during the Summer term as well.

Now that the kids are old enough to fend for themselves in the wild (that is, of the house...and maybe the backyard) Husband and I cobble together a combination of methods for keeping them supervised once their academic institution paroles them for 10 weeks. Sometimes he logs onto his company's server and manages from home using the highly technical "email + teleconferencing" strategy. Other days, when I'm only going to be gone a few short hours (and very critically: back by lunchtime) we trust the boys to muddle through on their own. I'm around to monitor breakfast and chat for a while; then I leave them to their own devices...after reviewing the rules and reminding them of my cell phone number, of course. (Although this year, Derek has Husband's old phone, so as I stepped one foot into the garage I hastily turned back to add, "But don't text me random stuff during my class!" Yes, yes, it seems to go without saying, but still...)

This is not their first go-round with the system--they did it last Summer a few times and survived just fine. So I decided (mwah hah hah!) to raise the stakes a bit. (Okay, it happened completely by accident, but don't tell them that! Evil Mom Persona is just sooo much more fun...) I had washed a load of laundry, but the dryer hadn't finished when I needed to leave for work. So I instructed Derek that it would be his New Responsibility to remove the dry clothes when the timer sang its cheery little song, bring the hamper upstairs, and sort the apparel into a pile for each person, on my bed. He appeared flabbergasted by--I don't know what, exactly...the enormity of the chore? Its complexity? Nah, that can't be it, since a reasonably intelligent monkey could be trained to successfully complete this particular task...Oh, I know, it must be that it was the first time in his LIFE I've asked him to do such a thing, and he was trying to wrap his teenage mind around the fact that the free maid service he's enjoyed for his thirteen years is vanishing before his panicked eyes. (Here's my sympathetic response, darling son: Suck. It. Up. This is but the tip of the Household Chores iceberg that I plan to transfer to you and your brother now that you're old enough to handle some more of the maintenance burden around here...stay tuned...)

Over his (mostly in jest) protests, I also mentioned that he should return the newly cleaned towels to their respective bathrooms. Then I sashayed out the door with an airy wave....and crossed my fingers that they would live up to my expectations. And what do you know--when I came back I found that he had followed my directions to the letter...which meant leaving his and his brother's clothes on my bed rather than carrying them across the hall to their own rooms and (heaven forbid such "thinking outside the box") actually putting them away. (Sigh. Baby steps...or perhaps I should remember my audience--the adolescent male--and Spell. It. Out. next time...) Also, they had brought the recycling bins back from the curb...without being asked! (Perhaps you don't understand the significance of this, but up 'til now I've had to remind them every single Thursday, lest they just walk by the large, bright blue boxes without apparently noticing their presence.) As a final testament to their admirable sense of duty and maturity, Riley even confessed that they'd (are you ready for this?) snuck some string cheese mid-morning when they'd gotten hungry waiting for me to come home for lunch. (Gasp! NOT the Unauthorized Between-Meals-Eating-Violation! Seriously, if that's the worst they got into while I was gone, I consider myself a lucky, lucky parent. And thank goodness for having such a tattletaling rule follower on patrol while I'm away! AND they were totally allowed to have a snack...I just forgot to mention it!)

All in all, I'd say the experimental first foray into domestic engineering went swimmingly well. The logical progression would be to teach Derek to operate the washing machine next, I think. And who knows? From there, he could tackle...unloading the dishwasher! Cleaning his own bathroom! Even (dare I say it) cooking! Yep, it's gonna be a F-U-N Summer (at least for one of us...)

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Daaaaance the Night Away...

Well, folks, I did it. As promised, (or "threatened", depending on how you look at it) I slithered into a slinky, sexy, sparkly costume and courageously chassed my way through my very first Showcase with the rest of my Jazz Ladies...and lived to tell. Actually, if I'm being completely honest, I found the experience to be...hmm, how can I phrase this delicately..."Gigantic Buckets of Awesomeness and I want to do it again now now NOW!" Ahem...I mean, I enjoyed myself...just a smidge.

In the week leading up to the actual "recital", it occurred to me that the last time I was on stage, in costume, was probably during high school, when I regularly performed in musicals as a singing, dancing member of the chorus. In other words: a looooooong time ago, kiddies. (Did this deter me in the slightest? Ha! I scoff at notion of stage fright! Let me know if I'm fooling anyone...) My classmates and I glided and spun through some scheduled bonus sessions to help everyone feel comfortable with our dance, and I began to wonder: would I be a quivering, nervous wreck when it was time to stand in front of an audience and do it "for real"? Then the evening of Dress Rehearsal loomed, and I had much bigger issues to deal with: specifically, how a woman who wears a minimum of face-paint in her everyday life can "glam it up" to actually look alive under the bright spotlights. Holy cosmetic aisle, Batman, I probably haven't worn eyeshadow, liner, or (heaven forbid) lipstick since...probably my wedding! (Here goes nothin'...) Then we walked out onto the scuffed wooden floor for the first time, in front of the empty auditorium, and ran our number...and the jitters I felt seemed more like...excitement and anticipation than, say, abject terror. (Pshew!) After practicing for months and months, my body could go through the steps even in my sleep...so really, there was a sense of "lemme at 'em, let's do this, already". (Oh, and when we had finished, a random stranger sitting in the front row--somebody's mother, I suppose--told me "Good job"! Dude! How rewarding is THAT? I could soooo get used to this...)

Opening Night, if you will, brought flashbacks to my high school theater days. The backstage chaos, the overflowing makeup bags, the rush to fix hair and change costumes and track down errant accessories. Except instead of a small, fairly controlled cast of teenagers, there were rampaging MOBS of females, from elementary school age to nearly-adult. Oh, and let's not forget the inevitable spats between daughters and their Dance Moms...and the resulting waterworks. Good grief, it was a Freaking. Estrogen. Circus, I tell ya. However, as an impartial (daughter-less) observer, none of this mattered much to me. I was just patiently biding my time, waiting for my turn on the boards. Oh, and this was the night I'd purchased tickets for my family to watch...albeit under extreme protest. (Derek: "WHAT? I have sit around for hours and watch a bunch of dancing?" he loudly complained when informed of his attendance requirement. To his credit, Husband did try to help out...by mentioning the plethora of "cute girls" they would have the opportunity to behold. Alas, they were having none of this argument...but then I mentioned the vast chunks of my life I've spent so far at their soccer games and told them "too darn bad, you're coming anyway!" That shut them up...at least temporarily...)

And then at last the moment arrived: a 3-1/2 minute presentation highlighting countless weeks of preparation, hard work and sweat. The lights came up, the music started, and it was go time! And how was it? Tons and tons of F-U-N...but over far too quickly (very unlike when we were learning it, 8 counts at a time...for-seemingly-ever)! The applause...and cheering (!) was priceless, though. And again, other grownups I didn't even know kept up the ego-stroking commentary, "Love your costumes!" "You guys look great!" "So much energy!" (Yes, I do realize this is how Divas are created...(tossing hair haughtily) and your point is?) Even better, when I caught up again with my crew at home later, they clapped thunderously as I opened the door. (I'm sure the boys were cued by their dad, but still: awww!) But what totally stunned me was Husband's unprompted review, "You guys ROCKED!" he enthused. As I gaped at him, wondering what this strange man had done with my normally understated,  non-gushy spouse, he continued, "Everyone was in perfect sync...and really looked like they knew what they were doing!" (Incidentally, if I had handed him a script and instructed, "This is exactly what we'd like to hear, to bolster our confidence and pride as much as possible", he couldn't have done any better. A felicitous showing for the WestEnders Booster Club, if I do say so myself!)  I thanked them all for their support, and Derek responded with a smile, "Eh, it wasn't that bad." (That's excellent news...since I'll expect you to do it all over again next year, too!)

After that, we got to perform once more, the following night. As if we hadn't been complimented enough, I was standing around at one point chatting with my classmates when a young dancer (age 9 or 10 maybe?) crept up to my side, stood there a few seconds until I noticed her, then said in a soft voice, "I just wanted you to know, I reaaallllly liked your dance...you guys are awesome!" Seriously? I had to stop myself from peering around suspiciously to catch the person who paid her to say such a nice thing. It was the icing on what had been a very sweet, satisfying weekend 'o dancing deliciousness. I can honestly say the whole escapade for me was delightful from start to finish...the only black cloud being...it's oooooover until September! (There's no law against slipping into my costume and dancing in the basement this Summer, though...you know, just to stay in shape...shhhhh!!!!)

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Summer Begins...

Yes, I realize that the calendar stubbornly refuses to recognize the commencement of the Summer season until June 21st. For us, however, it began at approximately 1:30 p.m. yesterday, when Riley (the last to return) triumphantly arrived home from school. There was an overwhelming sense of relief and closure, as the academic year came to a successful end. And let me tell you, one of the most satisfying things for me was emptying out the boys' pathetically-tattered, held-together-by-duct-tape 3-ring binders...and tossing them in the garbage. FREEDOM! So, while it has been less than 24 hours, here are some initial thoughts as we head into the Vacation Months.

Remember when Riley reluctantly, under protest, accepted the job of Safety Patrol? Well, since he will be the lone 5th grader on his bus next year, he will be entrusted with a Very Important Task: corralling the Kindergarteners and leading them to and from class each day. I figured that this would appeal to him, given his nurturing personality...and the very first words out of his mouth when he walked in the door yesterday were, "Kindergarteners are so cuuuuuute!" delivered with a delighted, affectionate expression. (Proving once again: Mother Knows Best. I mean really, is there ever any doubt? I didn't think so...)

On the other hand, this was Derek's leadoff comment: "I'm kinda sad school is over; this year was fun!" I'm sorry, who the HECK are you and what have you done with my son? Have you already conveniently forgotten waking up at 6:45 and spending 7 hours in a classroom and toiling over homework every night? I couldn't even reply; I just shook my head at the vagaries of the teenage male thought process. However, I swear it wasn't even 3 hours later when he wondered aloud, in a slightly concerned tone, "What am I gonna do with all my free time? I'm used to having 8 or 9 hours a day filled with school and soccer!" And, you guessed it, only a short while past that, it had already degenerated into "I'm bored!" I'm sure he'll rebound when it hits him (oh, about Monday morning or so) that he actually gets to sleep in for 10 weeks. And play outside whenever the mood strikes...and enjoy weekday video game time...and swim at the pool...yeah, his selective memory will catch up with him soon and remind him of the perks of late June, July, and August...

He still might need a bit of attitude tweaking, though. One recent night at dinner he moaned, "This is gonna be the worst Summer EVER!" As we all stared at him, astonished by such a dramatic proclamation from our normally low-key Derek, he expounded, "First you canceled two trips I really wanted to take, then you're sending me to Slave Camp (here he paused for effect, as though about to deliver the ultimate in terrible news)...annnnnd, we have to go to California!" Oh, my poor, tortured son. I apologize with utmost sincerity (N-O-T) about choosing to provide you with a week of camp on a posh private school campus where they feed you a gourmet lunch and allow you to select activities such as splashing in their lake and practicing their zipline course. It's really too bad that in the mornings you'll work on a service project--of your choosing, with your friends who will be attending as well--for credit hours towards those required by your school. Also, I'm truly sorry (not even a little bit) for substituting a 10-day sojourn to California--where some of the highlights might include touring San Francisco, seeing redwood forests, visiting the Pacific Ocean, and hiking nearby mountains--for our previously planned week-long East Coast road trip. Somehow, I think you'll survive, get over the trauma, and maybe, just maybe, even condescend to enjoy these Summer activities.

So, it's clearly time for all of us at Team WestEnders to shift into Summer mode. Now, everybody go outside and run around...Mom needs a nap!

Friday, June 14, 2013

Conversational Potluck

You know how, when dinner leftovers have piled up in your refrigerator over the course of a week, you schedule a "cleanup night" to get rid of them all? Well, that's the purpose of this post, except it involves me organizing and transcribing all of the hastily-jotted, nearly-illegible scribblings that are currently littering my workspace with torn sheets of paper and wrinkled sticky notes. The unifying theme shall be: "Ridiculous, Random Boy Babbling." Here goes nothin'...

1. Derek meandered into my room one day after school, before Riley arrived home (thank goodness) to chat. Now, most children might begin an afternoon discourse with the standard, expected "How was your day?" or even "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" But nooooo, my kid plopped himself down and, with a bemused expression, led with: "When they take the egg and sperm and mix them, do they just leave it wherever it is, to explode into a baby?" I'm sorry, what the WHAT? I swear, though, you'd think I was becoming completely inured to this sort of occurrence, because I just answered him instantly, without even flinching. He absorbed the scientific explanation of fertilization and implantation, but looked inexplicably disappointed by the information. He cleared it up a moment later when he commented, "Oh. Because that would be a really good way to make superheroes!" (Oh dear...you know, the Avengers aren't real, right? Never mind, that's a whole other can of worms...) Unfortunately, he wasn't quite done torturing--I mean "talking with"--Mom yet. After a short pause he asked, "When you're making out with someone, can you knock out a filling?" Um...I don't think so...but there's no earthly reason you even need to know that right now, so let's move on,'kay? (And by the way, you're grounded. Forever.)

2. Now, Riley. He's not-quite-10...but sometimes sounds like he's an adult, crammed into a mini-body. He says stuff like, "Three more minutes until I set off on my adventurous quest!" (aka "walking by himself to the bus stop") Or when being tucked in at night, "I'm too warm, but without a sheet over me, I feel a sense of vulnerability." (Oh. Good. Grief. Was it an unsympathetic parental response to say "just go to sleep, gooberhead!"? Oh well...) Even Derek sometimes shakes his head at his sibling, like the other night when he commented, "You're the most unorthodox little brother!" Riley immediately went into pout mode and claimed he was offended. "You can't be upset; you don't even know what that means!" I retorted. "Yes, I do, it means I'm different." (Ohhhh, okay then, go right ahead and feel insulted...although I certainly would consider being unique an asset, so keep marching to your own beat, little man!)

3, Finally, the one that still has me shaking my head in disbelief. One night before bed, I happened upon the two partners-in-crime lounging around, relaxing and conversing. When he spotted me, Riley piped up with, "I have a question!" (In my head: Warning Bells, Sirens, Danger Danger, Retreat!!!) What came out: "Yes, sweetie, what is it?" But he must have thought better of it, because he suddenly clammed up and backpedaled, "No, you won't like it." (Internal resigned sigh, already preparing to regret this very very soon) "It's fine, you can ask." Somewhat hesitantly, he continued, "Can you sell your uterus?" Holy guacamole...Did. Not. Expect. That. (And what the heck, you'd think I let them watch episodes of House all day, or something. Or that Husband and I were medical doctors. Or that all we do is sit around talking about anatomy. NONE of this is even remotely true, so I am clueless as to where they're digging up this nonsense. Wait a minute--I blame the Middle Schooler...and his adolescent friends. Yeah, that seems a safe bet....) Again, I gave him the straight answer. But then I don't know what came over me, because almost against my will, I found myself adding, "You can, however, sell your sperm!" Oh, it was sooooo worth it. Never, ever underestimate the sheer exhilaration that arises from shocking your beloved offspring. Derek, who had already begun speaking again, screeched to a halt with his mouth hanging open-- speechless, wide-eyed and staring. That only lasted a hot second, though, before he high-fived his brother and exclaimed, "Dude! We can make so much money!" (Forehead slapping moment. But really, who didn't see that coming? Oh yeah, ME, apparently.) But hold on, it gets worse. Riley excitedly offered, "Yeah, we can have a (wait for it...) Sperm Stand! (and the wheels of creativity keep churning) "Buy one get one free!"

Sometimes being the only girl in the house has distinct advantages...and other times it feels like a nerve-wracking, bewildering tightrope walk across a pit of...I don't know, something really perilous and terrifying. (One guess as to which category these examples fall into...) In this case, I have to confess that I joined them in hysterical laughter, because really, "sperm stand" might be one of the funniest phrases I've ever heard. What can I say? If you can't beat them (or run far, far away), you might as well get a good giggle out of the workings of the mysterious male brain, right?

Monday, June 10, 2013

My son...the oxymoron!

Remember the good old days of yore (otherwise known in this case as "last week") when I recounted how Derek was showing signs of reasserting his levelheaded, reliable, pre-teenage self? He even finished his week on a strongly positive note, reporting that he had already tackled some of his Summer Math Packet during school hours, when he had a bit of free time to use. It was a shining moment of parental pride...and hope..annnndddd, that didn't last very long. The facade started to crack on Saturday, when the following conversation took place:

Me (making a perfectly reasonable statement): "I'm probably going to pick you up early from the party, since I don't really want to drive home from Rockville at 11 p.m., and you don't need to be up until midnight anyway."
Derek (with an expression of indignation, and an incoherent noise of disgust): "But, but, I'm not a KID!"
Me (amused and skeptical): "Oh, realllllyyyy?"
Derek (vehemently): "Yeah, I'm 12!"
Me (gaping at him incredulously): ???
Derek (sputtering): "Um, I'm 13...whatever...I'm BIG!"

Huh, with a well-planned and convincingly-presented argument like that, how could you go wrong? However, things started looking a bit more promising again when he came home from school and gleefully announced that he'd completely finished the aforementioned Summer Math Homework. I barely had a chance to congratulate him, though, before I commenced my daily rifling through his backpack, identifying and removing any important papers (that he's absolutely certain NOT to give me, hence the TSA-style security check). And what turned up in today's routine search, tucked in behind a sheaf of graded Science assignments? An innocuous little half-sheet of paper, easy to miss, sentencing Derek to Afterschool Detention for the first time in his life. First thought: "Dude! You couldn't make it through FOUR MORE DAYS until you were sprung from 7th grade? What the heck? Then I went and found him, waved it in his face, and demanded to know what he had done to earn his incarceration. "Well, after the Science test, I had time left in class to work on stuff." (Hmm, nothing wrong with that...) "So I turned to my friend and said, 'Hey, I finished my Math!' And I got in trouble for talking..." (Sighhhhh....)

Thus he gets to spend an extra hour in schoolville on the second-to-last day of the year. Oh, and after praising him for being on top of his Summer work, I took a quick peek at it and noticed that they were only required to do the ODD numbered problems. I informed him that--rather than tucking it away and attempting to avoid even the thought of equations and variables for the entire vacation--he would in fact be completing the rest of the problems at some point as well. (You can imagine the reaction, right? Something along the lines of "What? Are you serious?" Why yes, yes I am. Mwah hah hah!) Say it with me: four more days...four more days...

Saturday, June 8, 2013

A boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do...

Today's post will be composed in honor of  that all-time-great TV show that taught me so much back in the day--Star Trek. No, wait, that's not the one...I meant Sesame Street! (Not to worry, Dad, the adventures of the USS Enterprise influenced me, too. Where else would I have learned such useful phrases as "Set phasers to stun!" or "I'm giving her all I've got, Cap'n!" In my daily life, these have been invaluable, trust me...) Anyway, the Word of the Day is: Responsibility, and the action stars two young men who should be very familiar...so let's begin with a 4th grader named Riley.

Every 5th grader at his school apparently gets to hold some sort of "leadership position", for which you fill out an "application", designating your top two choices and stating why you would be a good pick for each of them. Riley immediately gravitated toward the SERT (Saving Energy and Recycling Team) committee--not a surprise, given his concern for the environment and all things natural. However, we had already discussed the possibility of his being asked to step up as a Safety Patrol...since he would be absolutely the only eligible student on his entire bus next year who could fulfill this role. He emphatically claimed he had no interest in performing the duties of a Patrol. When asked why he was so against it, he fed us some vague mumbo jumbo about how it was too much work...and also that it didn't seem like much fun. (Aha! Methinks this is the REAL reason.) I tried to glamorize it a little by reminding him that his big brother had done his time--I mean "experienced this exciting opportunity"--as well. HUGE mistake. For every positive aspect I could think to mention, his smart-mouthed, sarcastic teenage brother had a glass-half-empty, extraordinarily not helpful retort. Me: "Ms. M (the faculty coordinator) asked you because she knows you can handle it and will do a good job." Derek: "It sucks! You're gonna hate it!" Me: "In the Winter, you get hot chocolate on Friday mornings!" Derek: "It's like water, with 2 squirts of chocolate...it sucks!" (Me: "Okay, you can shut the heck up, now." That last one was in my head...but I was giving him my most cowing Mom Glare...with no effect whatsoever...)

Then Riley had an actual meeting with Ms. M, who encouraged him to consider accepting the Yellow Belt of Destiny. (Actually, I just made that up, but I'm totally gonna use it in pep talks from now on). In reality, she probably didn't want to be forced to hand the gig over to a 3rd grader--imagine that kind of power in the hands of an eight-year old...shudder. So Riley came home and told me about their chat...and how he was still opposed. And you know, I almost let him off the hook, but the more I thought about it, the more firmly I came to believe that he needed to do his service to his school (rah rah). I gave him a rousing speech about how "sometimes you've gotta do the right thing, even when you don't completely want to"...and I might have thrown something in there about "manning up and taking one for the team..." To his credit--with only the barest hint of sniffling--he agreed to don the badge and do his best to keep the sidewalks...and his bus...safe. (Whew, one crisis managed...moving on...)

Next, we have Derek. Sigh. Let's just say he kicked off last week with a bang, by exhibiting poor judgment in the face of an episode of idiotic behavior by some of his pals. (How unusual for 7th grade boys, right? Oh, wait a minute...never mind...) I know, assigning "guilt by association" isn't totally fair, but it seemed an appropriate moment to drive home a valuable "consequences of your decisions" lesson. Thus his precious links to the outside world--his phone and his iPod--were confiscated until the weekend. (Trust me, this caused enough pain to make an impression.) I don't know if it was that incident acting as a wake-up call, or his 13-year old brain coming out of its fog (even if only temporarily, it's a nice change), but suddenly Derek appeared to undergo an organizational epiphany. With a busy week looming, he matter-of-factly detailed for me his agenda for completing each of the Study Guides--get this--BEFORE they were due (pause: gasp!) so that he could adequately prepare for the exams. Of his own volition, he requested that I help him practice Spanish for his oral assessment...3 nights in a row! All of this occurred, of course, in the last two weeks of the school year. I can only keep my fingers crossed that after putting the Academic Beast into a coma during the 2-1/2 months of vacation, we are able to awaken it again in time to start 8th grade on a strong note!

Or maybe the Yellow Belt of Destiny will rub off on both boys, leaving Husband and me overwhelmed by our refreshingly responsible, mature, and dependable young lads...ha! One can dream...

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

We're doomed, DOOMED, I tell you!

Okay, not really. I'm probably just experiencing some end-of-the-school-year heightened drama...possibly exacerbated by my gooberheaded children. (I know, right: how shocking! Or..."the definition of daily life around here". Yep, that's the one...) For example, this morning I cheerily waved goodbye to my 4th grader, who is walking himself to the bus stop. Alone. For the first time ever. Gulp. Granted, I know it's not the same as, say, sending him out into the bear-infested wilderness with a map and a compass and expecting him to survive and navigate his way home. It's a quarter-mile walk down a quiet neighborhood street...but still. Not sure I'm ready for my baby to be exerting quite this much independence just yet!*

With just under two weeks left in the academic term (it even sounds like a prison sentence, right?  That just can't be a coincidence...) we musn't let down our guards. There's still homework (ugh) and even tests (double ick) to complete before grades can be computed. Last night, after I helped Derek practice for his Examen Oral de Espanol, it occurred to me that I felt a bit like Professor Moody, (minus the magical spinning eye...which would be totally cool and super-useful...hmm, wonder where I can get one of those...now, where was I?) stalking around the house, glaring menacingly at my students--um, 'sons'--barking "constant vigilance!" lest they slip up and begin to slide into Summer Slacker Behavior even a moment too early. Yeah, it's exhausting and I can't wait until it's over.

Speaking of which, my own brain has already jumped ahead to the free-and-easy days awaiting us...and how we will fill them, of course. Last Summer, we tended to do Field Trip Fridays, in which we tried to find someplace new to visit and investigate. (That makes it sound much more official than "get the HECK out of the house or die of boredom"!) Of course, this is becoming more and more difficult, as we're running out of close-by locations that seem interesting enough to warrant the drive. When I mentioned this to the teenager, he grumbled, "Well, if you didn't drag us all over the place all the time, that wouldn't happen!" (Oh realllllly, my dearest son? I think you've just earned the job of Research Assistant in our Travel Division. It's an unpaid position...but you do get fed, so off to work you go! Score one for Evil Mom...mwah hah hah!!!!) Of course, when I made the fatal mistake of asking the boys at dinner last night what places they would enjoy exploring when school ends, these are the responses I got:

Derek--"The couch!" (thoughtful pause) "And the pantry!" (Note for future topics: Derek's startling and alarming lack of ambition and how the problem can be remedied to increase his future chances for success...) Riley--(in a dreamy tone of voice) "Maybe...the wonderful world of LAZY!" (Memo to self: is it possible to have too much imagination? Or should we encourage the development of his rich inner fantasy life? Discuss...) Okay, okay, I get it. Clearly we need to schedule in some major downtime before we go rushing off on all kinds of crazy adventures. And that's fine, but the clock will start ticking the minute they get off the bus on the last day of school. After a prescribed period of much-deserved rest and relaxation, it's off to...who-knows-where...I'd better get my crack team of researchers right on that! (Constant vigilance! And snacks!)



*Just as I anticipated and feared, when Riley arrived home this afternoon he announced that he'd prefer to continue his solo jaunt...every day...from now on. Wahhhhhh! But wait just a minute...I forgot to consider the additional minutes that would magically be liberated in my schedule if I'm not aimlessly loitering with the Elementary School crowd at the intersection, waiting for his ride. Extra time to get ready for work....or drink more coffee...or actually eat breakfast. Never mind, I'm on board with the new plan!