Monday, July 29, 2013

Packing it in (in a manner of speaking...)

Holy Agony of Anticipation, Batman, our Summer Getaway is almost here. It feels like approximately, oh, 3-1/2 YEARS since I planned this all out, and now we fi....na....lly get to go. (Well, in a couple more days, but still...) I mean, after all the booking of flights and reserving of rental car and securing lodging, the hard work is done, and I can just relax now, right? Suuuuure! Except for the teeny, minor, last-minute details, like stopping the mail...canceling the paper...setting up the timers...unplugging non-essential appliances...reprogramming the thermostat...arranging for fish-and-frog care...cleaning out the refrigerator. Hmm, have I forgotten anything? Oh yeah: PACKING (duh)!

Since I've been so excited--and since I'm just the slightest bit...let's say "obsessively organized", that sounds healthy--I made a detailed list about a week ago, encompassing all of the items I, myself, would require for this trip. It was arranged in categories (of course) such as clothing, wellness, toiletries, and electronic devices. Simple, yeah? That's what I thought, too, until I realized that each group contained several sub-divisions that needed to be addressed. For example, because of the climate we're visiting, "clothing" in this case will run the gamut from bathing suits to light hoodies for cool mornings to shorts and tee-shirts for daytime. (And a cotton jacket...and tropical-weight sweater, if you're me.) I must have running shoes and walking shoes (Yes, these are different, trust me). There's makeup (whether or not I actually use it on vacation, I hesitate to leave home without it...just in case....of what, I don't know...maybe "looking like a zombie in my travel photos"?) and lotions (face and body, day and night) and hair-control contraptions. Let's not forget my iron supplements and lip balm and sunscreen and...what else could I have forgotten? Aaarghhh! Deodorant and toothbrush, of course!

Finally, we arrive at the arsenal of communication and entertainment tools one must bring along: iPod, camera, Kindle, phone, laptop--and all of their assorted chargers, naturally. The boys were utterly appalled when I--thinking to show off my foresight and excellent planning skills--dangled the neatly written (and full) page in front of them. Rather than recognize my achievement (although I haven't actually assembled most of the things yet, it's still a worthy...Step One...) they expressed horror at the length and complexity of my list. A brief interlude ensued, while we argued about the necessity of bringing arm-covering-garments of any sort...which I won because, well, mostly because I employed the "Mom said so" tactic. (But also I was able to demonstrate to them by authority of NOAA.gov that it will be in the 50s overnight, which will feel extra-chilly for those of us from the hot, muggy Mid-Atlantic.) After that, they smugly boasted that their own suitcase-stuffing will consist of: the prescribed number of shorts, shirts, undies, and socks...swimwear...and the all-important products for odor control and oral hygiene. It will assuredly take the two of them five minutes--TOTAL--to be fully ready to walk out the door. Sigh.

No doubt about it, this is one of those "Dang, it's hard being a girl" times. On the plus side, their luggage is bound to be under-filled, leaving room for my overflow...you know, like perhaps an "emergency pair of capris"...or an "alternative long-sleeved top"...or, what the heck, maybe even the not-strictly-necessary-but-nevertheless desirable "cute pair of shoes"...on second thought, sometimes it's FUN being the girl! Now can we G-O, already?????

Thursday, July 25, 2013

All-Natural (and tasty) Thursday...

As the end of July barrels down upon us, Team WestEnders found ourselves facing a dire situation, one that required immediate attention and a decisive remedy. I'm speaking, of course, about the fact that we had not yet gone on even ONE Summer Field Trip, and we were running out of days--aaarrrgghhh! Okay...really, I'm the only one who felt even the slightest bit of urgency...or, let's face it, guilt...about this catastrophe. The boys would have been content to continue coasting along--sleeping late, dawdling away their hours...but I was a Mom on a Mission! The only issue: what to do? When you've exhausted all of the nearby Civil War sites, and spent quality time trekking through most of the surrounding area's parks, finding a fun, interesting place to explore becomes...challenging. I realized that to overcome such obstacles, sometimes one must make difficult choices, nay, perhaps even sacrifices, for the greater good. Thus, in the spirit of adventure and enlightenment, we committed ourselves to visiting (duh duh duh DAH) Hanover, Pennsylvania...home of the Utz Potato Chip Factory...educational, entertaining, and edible...W-I-N!

The day started on a fortuitous note, as last week's hellacious heatwave had finally cleared out, leaving us with overnight temperatures in the 60s. (Yes, that was me wearing a sweater this morning, what of it?) We were able to hit the road with the car windows open, reveling in the cool breeze and bright sunshine while we cruised across the Mason-Dixon Line. After an easy 90-minute jaunt, we reached our destination, drawn in by the alluring aroma of freshly cooked snack foods. Once inside, we watched the magic being made from the elevated gallery, following the raw potatoes from their original state, to the peeling machine, into the enormous slicer, under running water to clean out debris, over a vibrating conveyor belt to shake off excess moisture, and into vats of hot oil to transform them into crunchy goodness. At that point we were staring at mounds and mounds of just-prepared chips...all a few arms' lengths away...if not for the dratted glass keeping us apart. So close, and yet so unavailable! Anyway...then we observed the bagging process--which was made so much more amusing because of the actual humans involved, who would periodically turn around, glance up at the spectators, smile, and wave.

But since they (alas) were not chucking us samples while they worked, that was quite enough of the gazing-longingly-at-chips for us, thank you very much. Off we dashed to the Factory Store down the street, where one could sample an array of items, and of course purchase enough empty carbs to keep one happy for quite a long time. (Or a weekend or so, whatever....) We established one simple rule (since of course one must operate under some guidelines in such a location--otherwise, trust me, it'd be...calorie anarchy...)--we had to choose unique products we hadn't ever seen in our own local stores. Therefore we ended up with such intriguing prospects as: Cinnamon Whole Wheat Pretzel Sticks, two kinds of "traditional" potato chips (Tabasco and Baby Back Rib flavors), Sweet Potato Brown Rice Tortilla Crisps, White-Chocolate-Drizzled Caramel Popcorn, and Chilean Lime Avocado Oil Potato Chips. I think it's safe to say we had stepped right through the mystical portal to Junk. Food. Nirvana.

We did manage to remove ourselves from the premises once we were satisfied with our selections. And before we left the area to return home (and devour our delights) we took a nice walk in the woods at nearby Codorus State Park (countering future expected treat intake = wise health plan). So to sum up: we got the heck out of the house, we had a fascinating tour, we managed some extremely pleasant outdoor time in nature...altogether a successful (and delicious) day!

Sunday, July 21, 2013

More Musical Notes (sorry!)

In continuing our musical motif for July, Riley attended an introductory class offered by a local store, for kids who might be interested in playing an instrument but aren't sure which one they'd like to try. It was a 2-session deal, with the first one focusing on the "wind" family and the second highlighting "brass" options. At each station, Riley got to assemble the pieces, then practice proper techniques for holding the instrument, placing your fingers, and (of course) creating the sound. Night One, we learned about flutes, clarinets, and saxophones. Well...that is to say...the children experimented with these noisemakers--I mean "fascinating musical inventions." I, on the other hand, fled the building in tremendous distress once the...cacophony of caterwauling...began in earnest. Fortunately there was a 7-11 right next door for just such an emergency--and I found that a Big Gulp acts as a quick and effective antidote to the sudden headache caused by Untrained Orchestra Urchins blowing their enthusiastic little lungs out.

Night Two brought instruction featuring the trumpet and trombone. Lucky for me, Husband took driving duty for that one, leaving me at home with unassaulted ears for the evening. (Given my report from the previous class, Husband wisely brought some work along...and I'm sure he sat in his car so he could actually concentrate during the..."show".) After finishing the whole thing, Riley was left with a Certificate of Completion...and a decision to make. At the moment he thinks he's narrowed the field to either saxophone or trombone. I'm not holding my breath, however, knowing his penchant for flip-flopping between Column A and Column B, when faced with even the most inconsequential of choices. My plan is to just stand back and let him ponder for a while, then ask him about it when we get closer to the school year. (Of course, this leaves open the very real possibility that with so much elapsed time, my approach will completely backfire and he'll inform me that he doesn't really want to play an instrument any more...stay tuned--ha!)

Clearly he does have songs on the brain, though, as evidenced by our final anecdote. We were at the ENT (stick with me, it really does tie in eventually...) hoping she could help us address the recent spate of nosebleeds Riley's been suffering. In the waiting room I filled out the requisite forms, including the standard one that details certain procedures the doctor may feel it necessary to perform during your visit. I laughed out loud when I came to the one called "epistaxis" (partly because it's just such a fun word to say...go ahead, I'll wait while you try it...see?) which believe it or not simply means "control of nosebleeds." (Yep, that's the one! Sign us up for some good old epistaxis...stat!) I shared this with Riley, who initially laughed, then donned his trademark "I've got an idea" look. After a few seconds he asked, "What rhymes with epistaxis?" Oh-kaaay, totally NOT what I was expecting, but I'll play along...oh wait...the short answer is "not a whole heck of a lot"...and whyyyyy? His response (I reaaallly should have seen this coming): "Because I want to use it in a rap." Of course you do. The next moment he brightened up and chirped, "I've got one! 'They had to do epistaxis on me...but that was when I was three-times-three!"

Oh. Good. Grief. I honestly can't decide whether that's freakin' brilliant...or you're absolutely the nerdiest little Caucasian rapper since, I don't know, the Beastie Boys? (Yeah, probably a fair helping of both.) So there you have it, the crescendo of our tuneful month. Now I'm going to focus on the possibly final few weeks of relative peace and quiet around here...before Derek resumes his drum lessons and Riley commences blowing into the ear-splittingly loud instrument of his heart's desire. For this moment, at least, can you hear that? Aaahhh...blessed silence...

Thursday, July 18, 2013

At least it keeps them off the streets....

This weekly wrap-up should really be presented with its own theme song...which would be composed by the not-yet-famous duo of Derek and Riley...but on second thought, given their band-practice antics during the past several days, I deeply fear what they might create from their diabolical little musical minds, so let's just skip that part, shall we? Perhaps I should back up and start from the beginning...

I guess it all kicked off when Derek asked if he could download something by Kanye to his iPod. As I opened my mouth to shoot down this clearly ludicrous (Ludacris? Yeah, he's right there on the banned list as well...) request, he hastened to assure me that "it's not marked E for explicit!" You mean to tell me you managed to find the possibly one-and-only tune unobjectionable enough for me to accept? Well, alrighty then! Next thing you know, the brothers have resurrected their basement band (I know: again? Let's just say they have more creative differences than Hostess has Twinkies...) and have sequestered themselves downstairs, rebuffing all who attempt to enter their sanctum so they can feverishly scribble away in secret, on the scraps of paper they have scattered around them on every available surface. It certainly looks like the work of mad songwriting geniuses...and they're getting along so well...so I leave them to it.

Thus I returned upstairs to...I don't know, do "Mom stuff". (Okay, okay, probably "surf FB rather than be productive", but hey, that's my prerogative, right?) Suddenly Derek came thudding up the stairs, careening around the corner, holding on to the door jamb to keep himself from tumbling into my room. He paused just long enough to blurt out--in a breathless manner--"Is DaVinci Italian?" Utterly mystified, I confirmed that yes, he was dead, but nevertheless hailed from Italy. With no further explanation whatsoever, he bolted off, leaving me staring after his departing back and wondering just what the HECK was going on in their underground lair. Of course, I was right to be worried, as I discovered when I gave in to my rampant curiosity and made an unscheduled visit to the center of the boys' creation station. (Um, that would also be known as "the air hockey table"...where they'd laid out the...pencils and notebooks of their craft...) Practically bubbling with enthusiasm, Derek informed me that "We're writing raps!" (Oh, help me to contain my overwhelming joy.) He continued, "In one verse, I managed to use Caesar, Fiat, Italy, and DaVinci!" Riley also quoted Derek as having enthused, "Hey, I used a metaphor! Metaphors are good!" Although in the recounting, Derek sounded inordinately pleased with himself, Riley felt compelled to correctly identify the structure as a simile instead. Derek's reply was apparently, "Whatever, similes are good, too!" (Um...at least they're...educated rappers? This just gets better and better, I tell ya...)

I really had no reasonable response to that little revelation, but it didn't matter, because a moment later my younger son had this to share about the writing process: "It's hard to keep it clean"--and as I gaped disbelievingly at him he explained, "You know, like rappers use all these bad words every other sentence, and we're not doing that." Darn right you're not, my children who--even if they DO actually know the curse words, also understand they'd better not get caught using them in front of me. Therefore, non-profane rapping it is, apparently...from the up-and-coming young group who would like to be known as (wait for it) Lawn Gnome Ecstasy. I. Don't. Know. Why. (But their sudden interest in all things rap-related makes me ponder the question: are they just extremely happy gnomes...or are they nipping at the illicit...garden...substances? Hmm...) And then, for their finale of the week, this evening they informed me that there's some kind of device that you can hook up to the computer to capture audio...and save it to iTunes. So naturally they want to order this wondrous gadget immediately and record themselves for posterity. Sigh. Some days, I reaaallly miss the simple, wholesome Jonas Brothers years...

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Spa Treatment, Anyone?

While I of course cherish each member of my household of athletic, outdoor-loving dudes, being surrounded by so much testosterone on a daily basis certainly can cause some..."issues". Such as an inordinate amount of dirt, grass, and even twigs that somehow get tracked into the house regularly. Or the plethora of sweaty garments that accumulate for each night's laundry load. And how could I fail to mention the...pungent...aroma of vigorous male activity when they retreat, hot and covered in perspiration, to their air-conditioned oasis? Um...yaaayyy?

However, as the one appointed to make the frequent Target supply runs, I try to always remember to feel grateful about the flip side: the incredibly low-maintenance quality of the male species. After all, my lists usually consist of a whole lot of...shall we say "girlie products"--you know what I'm talking about: moisturizers (spf for daytime, super-anti-aging for overnight), makeup removal cloths, hair care potions (different variations, of course, for adding body, increasing control, or combating humidity)...and other random, absolutely necessary-for-female-survival...stuff. It has been a revelation to me how shockingly little effort is required to meet the hygiene needs of my guys. Basically, I quickly peek into Husband's medicine cabinet to assess his stash of toothpaste, mouthwash, shaving items, and deodorant. D-O-N-E. Until recently, the sons have been even easier. (i.e.: "yes" to oral care and the ever-important odor-prevention; "not yet" to shaving...thank goodness!)

Things began to change just a smidge when Derek suddenly took that leap into adolescence. The first, gradual step involved a totally new concept for him--that's right, I'm talking about acne treatment. Not that there's anything major going on in that department just yet, but several months ago I made a preemptive strike by purchasing some cleansing pads and pimple-be-gone cream. Then I noticed his face might not be as fresh and clean as one would hope...after he washed it with a bar of Ivory soap in the shower. (I know: DUH. Good catch, Mom. So sue me, I'm still getting used to dealing with a teenager...) So I bought him a natural, gently-medicated face wash to use instead. (Bonus: it boasts those exfoliating scrubby beads...which I'm sure he neither notices nor appreciates...but I'm sure someday he'll thank me!) Without any prompting whatsoever, he reported that he liked the way it made his skin feel...which should have been my first warning that we were on a slippery downward slope.

Around the same time, I had switched him from regular shampoo to Head & Shoulders, after noticing his dry, slightly flaky scalp. He had no complaints about this, but insisted that I choose the package that clearly stated the following: "FOR MEN"...and "Official Dandruff Shampoo of the NFL". (Extra cred if he's actually seen a commercial for it during a televised sporting event. Sigh.) But then the unthinkable happened--once when I went to the store without him, I was inexorably lured by the money-saving draw of the cheaper generic brand. (GASP!) I figured it wouldn't really matter to him...but after he'd used the no-name for several washings, he curiously inquired, "Does Head & Shoulders cost a lot more?" Uh-oh..."Um, noooo...why?" Very seriously he answered, "Because I like it better." Expecting an illogical or baseless response, I pressed, "Okay, but what's different?" Without missing a beat he replied, "It makes my hair feel much softer." So I reverted to the original kind when it was time to replace his bottle, at which point he proceeded to back up his claim by coming in to my room one night after his shower and demanding, "See, touch my hair, doesn't it feel soft?" (Oh. Good. Grief. What, are you getting in touch with your feminine side, or something?)

As if that weren't bad enough, ever since Riley got the mohawk shaved back into his hair, he's been clamoring for me to (are you ready for this?) mousse and blowdry it, to achieve the maximum possible...spikiness, I guess. Never in a million years did I imagine I'd be coiffing my son every morning before he leaves for school. (This can only mean one thing: I've got to teach him to do that sucker himself!) And then, the final straw. Last night Derek plopped down next to me and queried, "Can we have body wash?" What. The. HECK? As I gaped at him in utter incomprehension as to just why my beloved child would ask such a thing, he responded to my unspoken question, "Because soap is just...boring!" So at this point I have no idea if someone's been feeding him outrageous stories, something along the lines of "chicks dig the manly scent of X body wash"...or if he's reacting to an advertisement. (Either one is equally likely...as well as equally preposterous, I'd say.)

But I do believe one thing is crystal clear: the Y-chromosome contingent in this house is NOT permitted to use more personal care products than I do. At least, not until they can drive themselves to Target and get their own! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go hide all of my special lotions and whatnot, lest I end up with tea-tree oil scented, shea butter coated children...who need another shower!

Friday, July 12, 2013

Camping...but without the tents....

Well, the boys have completed their one and only week of camp for Summer 2013, at a local private resort--I mean "school"...and seem to be none the worse for wear from their adventures. Of course, for Riley the whole thing resembled one long stretch of extra-special recess, with the highlights being daily Ultimate Frisbee games, swimming in the on-campus lake, and time set aside for exploration of the surrounding natural environment. (Bonus: he encountered any number of toads--his current most-favoritest animal EVER--to observe and admire during his rambles.) In addition, he was plied with snacks and hot lunches, courtesy of the cafeteria, and was able to hang out with several of his soccer and school buddies who were also attending the session. Pretty. Nice. Deal.

Derek, on the other hand, would have you believe that his stint seemed more like, say, court-ordered Work Camp. (Not that we'd know anything about that...except what I've picked up from watching many episodes of Law & Order...) In order to earn Volunteer Hours required for high school graduation in this state, he participated in 5 days of projects, for which he would be awarded credit for, um, "time served", if you will. Now, before you think how mean this is, to force a young teenager to (gasp) labor away his free hours in the Summertime (which incidentally is exactly how Derek saw it) let me just tell you how much his attitude rebounded when he learned that at least seven people he knew would be joining him for the trial and tribulation. So yes, he had a posse to share the burden, and all was well with the world. And they got to experience some interesting stuff, like tending the school's organic garden. (Although when I picked the carpool up that day, one of Derek's friends sputtered, "I thought it would be, like, pulling weeds, but it was...farming!" Ha! I refrained--barely and with great effort--from lecturing them about how connecting with the soil and nurturing greenery is nourishing to one's soul, blah blah blah. Had it been just my own kids in the car, they totally would have gotten the full presentation of that speech, so they dodged a bullet they didn't even know about, lucky them!)

The adolescent crew also washed buses one afternoon, (which I can only imagine involved an enormous amount of general horsing around...and spraying each other with hoses). Another day they visited a retirement home to make cookies and chat with the residents. (Derek reported that while waiting for the treats to come out of the oven, the senior citizens...fell asleep. Well, look at it this way: they got freshly baked, warm cookies, PLUS a nap! To me, this sounds like a huge W-I-N! Let this be a lesson: opportunities to serve others can take many forms, my son...) A trip to Antietam National Park allowed them to assist the rangers with "wildflower restoration"... in other words  "removing invasive plants". (Ahhh, yes, Derek and I are familiar with this one. What we gleaned from our last outing of this type: the little buggers you want to remove generally have the deepest, most stubborn roots...and the longest, sharpest thorns. Have fun...storming the weeds, dear!) For their ultimate hurrah, on the final, rainy day of camp, they made an anti-bullying video to be posted on YouTube. Oh, and lest I forget, they, also, spent time splashing at the lake when their daily goal was achieved.

All-in-all, five days of fun-with-a-purpose...not a bad way to pass some otherwise empty hours in July. For next week, though, I've promised the boys I will not wake them up, nor hurry them through their leisurely morning repast, nor even force them to change out of their pajamas if they don't wish to do so. They've earned some true downtime...that is of course unless I can persuade them to bake ME some cookies...while I take a little snooze...Hey, I think I'm onto something, here: welcome to Camp Coddle Mom! (Think they'll buy it? Maybe if I offer to share the cookies...)

Monday, July 8, 2013

And we're walking, we're walking...

I'm currently sporting a new toy clipped to my waistband, one which is meant to encourage a non-sedentary lifestyle and promote overall well-being...but I'm a bit concerned that our relationship may already be heading in an unhealthy direction instead. Let me explain: of course by now you've guessed it's a pedometer. (Or if not, I don't even want to know what you imagined I had attached to my pants...) I bought it after reading for the umpteenth time that "experts" recommend everyone aim for 10,000 steps per day, their so-called gold standard for accruing an adequate amount of movement to be exempted from the dreaded "lazy, lumpy couch-potato" category. Now, I consider myself a pretty active person...but that struck me as a huge number, and I began to wonder how I would stack up. Was I naively fooling myself into thinking I got enough up-and-about time, or would I be pleased by my personal stats?

After exhaustive research (of course) I purchased a simple model that measures steps taken, distance covered, and calories burned. Pretty standard stuff, really. But then it gets tricky. My little electronic buddy also "rewards" you for being on track towards the 10,000 daily steps plateau...with a smiley face. I can just hear you thinking: who the heck cares? It's only a stupid little emoticon on an inanimate device. True....BUT, I found out that--if it decides you're slacking off--the image loses its smile...and looks slightly...reproachful. (Okay, that may just be me, feeling guilt from the chastisement I sense...on my imaginary, naggy workout coach...) My logical brain understands that this is utterly ridiculous...and yet I'm such a Type-A perfectionist that I dare not allow myself to finish the day with less-than-acceptable results. So how do I remedy this situation? I walk down our neighborhood street to the end and back, tacking on enough paces to reach the special number and WIN. Because I don't ever want to see a frowny face, no ma'am, not me!

On top of that...pressure...today I discovered a big flaw that's causing me additional distress. Because it's after 9 p.m. and I technically have several thousand more steps to go, before I hit the magic digits. But my workout for the day was an intensive 75-minute power yoga class that left me with drenched clothing and shaking muscles...which my traitorous pedometer doesn't acknowledge in the slightest! I ask you, how is that fair? And now, after all that exertion, I'm also starving-- why don't you go ahead and count me strolling to the kitchen for a snack, huh? How do you like me now? Oh, and since I need to refill my iced tea, I'll make TWO trips, so there! Suck it, my measly opponent, I will prevail! (Whew! You think there's an intervention for a problem like this?)

So, you see, I haven't decided if all of this comes under the heading of "positive, competitive motivation"...or "stress-induced-ulcer-waiting-to-happen". Seriously, these things should be sold with a big honkin' warning label for people like me. And now I've got to get up and walk around some more, because I only have a few hours until bedtime and I will reach 10,000 freakin' steps. Even if all I really want to do right now is sink into the sofa and watch reruns of Castle, I will meander nonchalantly down the street a few times in my pajamas...all in the name of healthy living. (Aannnnd the neighbors all agreed, "Yeah, she's mentally unbalanced...but so physically FIT! Sigh...)

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Free Time on the Fourth

Holy cookouts and celebrating, Batman, how the HECK did it get to be July 4th already? Given this so-far unprecedented pace, I will go on record right here to predict that this will be the Quickest. Summer. Ever. for Team WestEnders. I mean, next week the kids have camp, then it's only three weeks until our family vacation, and when we get back from the West Coast, there'll only be a fortnight until the next academic year starts back up. Yikes, we'd better seriously get busy planning all kinds of epic entertainment! That being said, what have we accomplished to date? Hmm...the truth is: not a whole lot. But that's okay, because we have a four-day weekend and a super-huge agenda! (Oh wait...the calendar's blank...uh oh...) Okay, hypothetically, we have a loose sort-of-schedule that includes such earth-shattering events as...stopping by Sports Authority to buy more baseballs (due to the Backyard Boys, aka "my sons", evidently having hit all of them into the tall weeds and being helpless to locate them. Sigh. The dreaded "Male Non-Finding Gene" strikes again...); finally getting around to seeing the Star Trek movie (although at this point we'll have to journey to the second-run theater forty minutes away, since we're so behind the current culture curve. Oh well, it's cheaper--more moolah for munchies!); and maybe, just maybe a much-belated venture to IHOP to redeem the giftcards Husband's parents gave him for his birthday over a month ago. (In case you were wondering: yes, this would be the highlight. What can I say, we lead a life filled with excitement and adventure, I tell ya. And if I'm being totally honest, anything involving free food ranks pretty high on our Thrill-O-Meter. Something about "simple pleasures", yeah?)

After their stay in the distant Technology-Black-Hole (that is, "Grandparents' House", where they pass six primitive days of computer-deprived, wifi-less, minimal-cell-service existence before returning to Electronic Civilization) the boys have been enjoying such sophisticated pleasures as "the Internet" (for those random, frequent times you just need to Google something and find an answer...right NOW), "the ScoreMobile app" (when the ESPN ticker isn't fast enough to meet your need to know all the sports results in an instant), and "the PS3" (because, well, you're a boy, and school's out, and you've got time to kill...what else are you gonna do? Your Summer Homework? Hahahahahaha!) To be fair, the brothers have also been amusing themselves in the out-of-doors with an endless succession of driveway-basketball-contests, dribble-and-shoot soccer competitions, and the aforementioned pitch-hit-run-field (or sometimes "lose ball") baseball drills. So far they're finding ways to maintain a healthy rivalry...without beating the bejeebers out of each other. (One can only cross every finger and toe one has, in hopes that this continues for seven more weeks...)

But my favorite moments of sibling bonding continue to be the Brother Sleepovers. Whenever they're allowed--which pretty much means most nights from mid-June to mid-August--Riley pulls up an extra mattress on Derek's floor and they bunk together. I'm sure there's much nonsensical babbling, and I hear a great deal of happy laughter from behind the closed door, but other than that I leave them to their own devices. Each year I wonder if they're going to tell me they're too old for this ritual, and each year I'm relieved when they still cling to the tradition. However, I was made aware of one important change when I overheard them chatting during pre-bed preparations one recent night. You see, somewhere along the way, Riley stuck Derek with the nickname "Bubby" (which it should be noted, only he uses...must be a "little brother" thing). So that night, Riley asked Derek if he wanted to have a Bubby Sleepover. In a slightly exasperated tone, Derek replied, "Sure...but let's not call it that." "Okay," Riley readily agreed, "what should we call it, then?" Derek paused for a moment to ponder, then decisively replied, "Either 'Bro Hangout'...or 'Manly Talk in the Dark'!" (Oh. My. Goodness...I think I'm going to refer to it as Goofballs Anonymous, myself!)

So there you have it. I think it's safe to say that Independence Day--and the remainder of Summer 2013--will also certainly include pool interludes, grilling, family hikes...and lots more Tales from the Goofy Side...