Monday, October 28, 2013

Smells like...a win!

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

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

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

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

Thursday, October 24, 2013

A surprisingly complicated commercial experience...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Scarier than the actual holiday...

In my house, we don't really get all crazy-excited about Halloween. Sure, we (and by that I mean "the royal we"...aka "just me, really") simply adore anything edible that includes the word "pumpkin" somewhere in the name. And of course we (and this time I am actually referring to the whole family) enjoy traipsing around our local nature store to carefully choose future jack-o-lanterns for the porch. (Husband and boys take care of the carving; then we all chow down on the roasted seeds....yum!) Oh, and let's not forget the extremely important issue of purchasing sufficient amounts of candy...to hand out to the approximately ten hardy (or sugar-obsessed) trick-or-treaters who manage to make it all the way down to the very last houses on our dead-end cul-de-sac and request goodies. (I've learned to make sure I buy stuff we like, since it'll most likely end up in our dessert stash...and really, there's no downside to this scenario, is there?) My kids used to dress up when they were younger, but this tradition has fallen by the wayside in recent years.

As for me, I've always had a bit of difficulty with the whole "costume" thing. Even as a child, I never wanted to wear uncomfortable clothes...fussy accessories...or masks... (Yeah, I probably gave my poor mother fits as the end of October approached each year.) Also, while I'm a creative person in my own way, this does NOT extend to "visualizing and/or creating clever Halloween outfits". Sooo ...(yes, this is leading somewhere, I promise) this weekend my dance-class-ladies were getting together for a little party. Yay! Special grown-up time! With delicious food! And adult beverages! However, a few weeks before the event, the hostess sent the entire group of us into a panicked tailspin when she casually announced that "costumes would be required". Gulp. We bombarded her with impassioned protests, but she firmly stuck to her rule and refused to budge. The next several times we convened, the conversation--in between plies and chasses--inevitably returned to the same topic: what was everyone planning to wear to the shindig? The level of hysteria steadily increased, the closer we got to the date. I shared the same concerns everyone voiced, namely 1) no freakin' clue how to concoct something from items already in my wardrobe; 2) not willing to spend money on a  pre-made getup; and 3) see earlier complaints, which still apply to the adult me.

As time marched on, I began wandering around the house, seeking inspiration in the oddest and most unlikely of venues...my sons' bedrooms...the garage...the downstairs storage space. Nothing jumped out (literally or metaphorically...thank goodness for that, I guess...) until I randomly opened Husband's closet and found my salvation (a little dramatic? Did I mention I was desperate by this point?) in the form of: an Orioles jersey. (An engagement gift from my sister oh-so-many years ago. Bless you once more, sis!) It even has my name on the back, lending it a nice authentic touch. (Because, you know, I could SO pull off the appearance of a Major League Baseball Player in terms of age, build, height...um, gender...etc...if I only had a shirt with my name on it, right?) I exhaled with a gigantic sigh of relief and felt my tension dissipate, as the image came together in my mind: black pants, baseball cap borrowed from...well, from whichever boy has one to offer that's not totally sweat-infested...and for the finishing touch, Derek's orange-and-white braided "energy necklace" that so many ballplayers sport these days with their uniforms. And...D-O-N-E!

I was completely comfortable, I looked reasonably cute, and I had fulfilled the demands of my hostess-friend. (Now she'd have to let me in the door...and allow me my well-deserved snacks and libations!) As it turned out, all of my classmates acquitted themselves quite well, running the gamut from traditional to think-out-of-the-box brilliant. In the end, though, it was all about the camaraderie, the laughter...and perhaps the pumpkin pie! (And don't think I'm not throwing on the exact same ensemble for however many more Halloween fiestas I get invited to....for the rest of my life! Shhh, don't tell!)

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Too Cool for School (NOT!)

As a mom, I'm always curious to know what my kids are "into". (Or maybe I'm just an obnoxiously nosy person...nah, let's go with "healthily interested in my sons' lives" and leave it at that, shall we?) Sometimes this is easy, of course, when I can directly observe their evolving tastes in such areas as video games, books, and clothes. (Although some might argue--with good reason--that "taste" is a mighty strong word for the outfits my boys throw on..) Then we have a murkier realm--I'm talking about that whole "other life" that occurs when they leave the house each morning and journey to their respective schools for 7 hours or so. Sure, I see the homework, the test scores, and the resulting grades...but what actually transpires all day long in those unassuming brick buildings? Quite mysterious to the outsider...um "parent".

However, for just one rare and special day every academic year (also known as...Columbus Day) the hallowed halls of learning fling their doors wide and invite us in to spy on our beloved offspring--I mean "watch our students hard at work". If I'm being completely honest, I have to admit couldn't work up much enthusiasm about attending. All I could think about was "I have soooo much to do...and I don't wanna sit in class!" (Yes, I was absolutely whining...in my head...) But I suspected that at least Riley would be disappointed if I didn't show (the teenager I wasn't sure about--could have been totally indifferent, or could have secretly wanted a visit from mom...who knows what goes on in the adolescent brain?), so I resolved to make an appearance at both schools. As luck would have it, I was running super-late getting myself out-of-the-house-presentable this morning, so I sent Riley off to the bus stop with a promise of "I'll see you soon!" (His response wasn't altogether encouraging as he practically sprinted out the door: "Ooh, I get to walk by myself? Okay! Bye, Mom!" Hmmm, perhaps he's more independent than I thought, these days...)

First I showed up at the Middle School, where Derek had told me he'd be in Algebra. And whattya know, I actually enjoyed the lesson. (Although this is no great shock to anyone, right?) I found the teacher to be engaging and entertaining...and of course it didn't hurt that I was familiar with the topic they were working on at the moment, either. (Incidentally, at dinner time Derek asked me if I understood his teacher. "Oh yeah, definitely," I assured him. "Because he usually says a lot of nonsense...and makes jokes about the '80s that none of us get," he explained. "But," he continued with more enthusiasm, "he gives people nicknames. He calls me D-Dubs!" Yep, I'd probably get a big kick out of this guy, if I got to listen to him every day...) Then, the most shocking thing happened right in the middle of a group activity, when I'd been quietly watching from my spot near the the wall for ten minutes or so: suddenly Derek looked up from his paper, waved both arms in the air with an enormous, goofy grin on his face and called, "Hi, Mom!" What the? Who is this child who so closely resembles my son...acknowledging me...without coercion...in public?

But that wasn't the end of it, believe it or not. When the bell rang signaling the end of the period, I was permitted to (wait for it) accompany Derek to his next class! Down the stairs, through multiples hallways...including a stop at his locker! Wonders never cease, I tell ya. As we negotiated our way (with me being completely dwarfed by the 8th graders--I'm not kidding, I felt like a grown-up...pixie...in a land of...child giants, or something), we happened to pass a number of his soccer teammates, who looked either amused or nervous (or both) to spot me invading their turf. (Did I relish their discomfort? You betcha--mwah hah hah!) There was one more surprise in store. At the door to his next classroom, Derek said goodbye...and hugged me. (Again--in front of his peers! Either this signifies an end to the era that shall be known as: "My Mother's Very Existence on This Planet Mortifies Me"...or it's merely an interlude of tolerance. I suppose only time will tell...)

With a successful junior high experience under my belt, I headed to Elementary School to get a glimpse of whatever (hopefully) fascinating stuff the 5th graders were accomplishing today. I joined the "program already in progress" during Math instruction, when Riley was in the midst of a group assignment. I couldn't really see much of what he was actually doing, but that didn't bother me, since several other moms I know were there at the same time, and we chatted quietly while our kids toiled away. However, Riley paused to come over and get me, proclaiming that he wanted to introduce me to his classmates. (One of them was his good buddy and soccer teammate, so I figure Riley just wanted some attention, but whatever.) When I had politely greeted all of the...math-letes...Riley breezily informed me that I could "go back and talk to my posse." (Sigh... my youngest son, with the slight flair for the dramatic...)

I did also get to see an awesomely neat demonstration of technology, though. Mrs. B used her smart-board to display a multiple-choice decimal problem, as well as a timer that counted down 30-seconds. Each student had on their desk a calculator-like device, with which they entered their selection during the allotted time. On the screen, a separate grid showed when each individual kid had typed in the letter they wanted. After all of the students had been recorded, the computer instantly compiled a graph of how many kids had opted for each possible answer, and therefore how many had picked the correct one. The teacher also said--for the parents' benefit, I believe--that the program would capture data on how quickly each person responded and how many they got right. Holy Space Age Arithmetic, Batman, that's just crazy cool! From there, we segued into Social Studies, in which we are apparently studying the events leading up to the American Revolution. I am not ashamed to say right now that I didn't remember ever hearing about the Proclamation of 1763 before today...but thanks to an articulate 10-year old, I now know what it means. And my own delightful child raised his hand and was called upon to describe "why the Patriots were upset with Britain". In his reply he was able to work in the phrase "Taxation Without Representation". Sniffle. Bless my little nerdling...

So, having received my fill of education for the day, I said my farewells and snuck out. All in all, I'm very glad I made the effort to get at least a little peek into my kids' scholastic world. It was just one more way to show them I care about what goes on when they're off with their noses-to-the-grindstone. And it was honestly stimulating--and fun--for me as well. Win...win! (Plus, I don't get any homework out of the deal...B-O-N-U-S, Mom!)

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Teenage Wasteland? (Nah, not really!)

Well, folks, it's time for our latest edition of: Teenagers...Can't Live with 'Em...Can't Lock 'Em in Their Rooms. (Not because there's anything wrong with that, but it's not much of a behavior-shaping tool if their phone, iPod, personal library, and collection of Sports Illustrated Kids magazines are in there with them...and who knows, with my child, he may even have a hidden cache of snacks buried under his t-shirts. Hey, on second thought, maybe it would be more of a punishment if I took over his lair, and he had to go sit in the boring old family room...yeah, now we're onto something...)

Anyway, our adolescent madness began innocently enough, with a conversation revolving around...interior decoration, believe it or not. You see, I'd purchased a new shower curtain for the Young Gents' bathroom, since the previous one was persistently exuding a displeasing mildewy odor, even after repeated spins through the washing machine. I was actually quite pleased with myself, as Bed Bath & Beyond happened to carry one in the exact shade of lilac-ish matching the paint in that room. When I hung it, I thought the effect was rather harmonic and soothing, in a...lavender...sort of way. Then Derek arrived home from school and followed his normal routine of immediately "using the facilities". (The way he sprints up the stairs every day to take care of business, I swear it's like they don't allow peeing in Middle School, or something...) Afterwards, he huffed into my office--um, "corner chair with laptop...area"--and railed, "What's with the purple shower curtains, Mom? They're so...girly!" I just peered up at him silently, somewhat bemused by his outburst; so he seized the opportunity to continue, "I want one with...pictures of BACON on it...and...and...it should smell like...BBQ! You're totally ruining my showering experience!" Oh. Good. Grief. (I understood that he was kidding, and I really couldn't formulate a response to this nonsense at the time, so I took the easy way out and shooed him off to the kitchen for a snack. Problem solved.)

Next up, we have the Science Project Complication. I already related the story about how last weekend the brothers did their big Sleepover Switch with their soccer Coach's sons. When returning Derek to us the next morning, Coach mentioned that his 8th grader needed to spend some of his Sunday addressing an ongoing long-term project that would be due in a few weeks. "Ohhhhh?" I replied, "I don't think I'm aware of this. Tell me all about it." You should have seen Derek at that point...a wide-eyed baby deer...facing down an oncoming, speeding 18-wheeler...could not have looked more startled, confused, or petrified. And I instinctively knew, it wasn't about the assignment itself--oh no, it was totally about his parents being slipped into the loop, so they'd be able to get right up on his case about it until the very due date. Mwah hah hah!) Of course, I proceeded to grill him about the pertinent facts: when does it have to be turned in, what materials do you need for it, have you formulated a plan for completing it on time? And most importantly: when, exactly must we procure these items in order for you to build the model ahead of schedule? He provided the answers grudgingly, in muttered monosyllables, with the bare minimum of details...and a whole lotta attitude.

But that's okay, because now I could be on top of the issue, and browbeat him--I mean "gently encourage him"--to keep ahead of his deadline...thereby helping ME avoid a last-minute rush to the store for construction supplies. With a pretty full agenda on the Team WestEnders calendar for this weekend, I reminded him a few days ago to let me know what needed to be accomplished, to keep this thing moving along. Then I got an email from his teacher, updating all of us parents about one step in the process that students would be required to complete for the coming Monday. I thought I'd wait to see if Derek brought it up himself before I confronted him with my new intel. (Okay, okay, I sat on the memo for a couple of hours, at most...did I not say we are distinctly lacking in extraneous "goofing around time" this weekend?) Then I asked, "Do you have anything to tell me?" He appeared to be wracking his brains for a response, so I gave him an assist, "About your Science Project?" His face brightened, "Oh, yeah! I've gotta bring stuff on Monday!" With gritted teeth and fuming countenance, I inquired, "Have you and your partners discussed how you're handling this? What are you, specifically, supposed to contribute?" He stared at me blankly for a moment, then replied in a quizzical tone, "We made a list. I'll just bring those things." I resisted rolling my eyes (or...not) as I shot back, "Are you all going to cart in exactly the same items? Should you divide up the list? Do you want to maybe, I don't know, call them and make arrangements? What's. The. Plan. DUDE?"

As my voice inevitably escalated in volume (and probably in pitch, as well...and sternness....) Derek seemed to reach the limit of his tolerance for this Mom-quisition. He mumbled something incoherent and shuffled from the kitchen with a stormy face and drooping head. I presumed he'd gone to his room to sulk. However, a short while later, he emerged with a satisfied, confident expression and a sheet of paper which he handed to me for my perusal. On the page, he'd drawn a diagram of his eco-friendly structure. He'd labeled all of the features, including what specific material he would use to simulate each of them. To the side, he'd clearly indicated what we needed to buy. In a separate section, he'd explained the various "green options" he intended to include in his finished model, and the benefits of each. It was, in a word, fan-freakin'-tastic. Clearly, that 13-year-old brain is indeed capable of functioning on all cylinders....with the occasional kick-start from a Parental Unit to get it in gear. (Just to be clear, there was absolutely NO literal "kicking" of offspring during the incident...)

I was proud. I was impressed. I still had to drive him to Michael's to obtain the necessaries to make this awesome project a reality. But, since soccer was cancelled due to the continuing downpours and swampy conditions of the fields, it turned out that we had ample time to make this happen, after all. And so, in the end all was well in the academic world. But...just to be safe, maybe I should go check the online School Notes right NOW to alert myself as to when the next Big Thing is due...

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Showdown: Techno vs. Throwback

One theme that has emerged this week in our household involves a sort of metaphorical..."tug-of-war", if you will. One one side we have the modern, powerful, lightning-fast forces of the Digital Age. Arrayed against them are the old-fashioned, simple, leisurely-paced resources of Bygone Days. Here's how the battle ensued...

It all began when Riley brought home the monthly Scholastic Book Club flyer in his backpack. He had already circled two options for my review and approval--both reference-type volumes, primarily about animals, totally parentally-acceptable. I promptly wrote the check (speaking of antiquated practices still going strong in today's world, right?) and he awaited the delivery with much anticipation and excitement. When he brought his literary booty home a few short days later, he immediately became entranced by The Encyclopedia of Nature. He would readi it intently for long stretches at a time, pausing only to share facts he found especially interesting with whomever happened to be sitting nearby. At one point he noted, "I'm going to try to absorb as much as I can from this book because I like it a lot!" I pointed out that since it was his own personal possession now, he could revisit it any time he wanted. "That's why I don't like going to the library," he replied, "because you might read a book and think it's great...but then you have to give it back!" (Sooo, I'd say we have to award the first point to: Throwback...)

Although I myself DO enjoy the library, I understand (and share) his pleasure in filling a shelf (or...twelve...) with books I can keep. In fact, since our town library has been closed now for almost three years (yep, stilllllll not finished with those "renovations" yet...) I've been making frequent trips to the..."basement archives" to pick out and re-read some favorites. In a related incident, there was our kind of half-new-fangled, half-retro experience: I pre-ordered a book on Amazon, knowing that when you do so, they ship it to you pretty quickly after the official publishing date. It was the fourth in a series by one of our favorite Young Adult authors, and this installment would be joining the others in our collection. So let's see...I used a computer...to make an electronic purchase...of a hardback novel...that would be shipped via the Pony Express. (No, no, it only SEEMS that slow when you're impatient to dive into a new story, but I'm sure they have trucks...) Hmm...I'd have to give that another tally for Throwback...with an assist for Technology, maybe?

But then there's a footnote (ha! sorry...) regarding my Kindle. You see, I'm morally opposed to spending over, say, eight dollars or so for an e-book. So I choose a new selection occasionally, or put it on my Wish List and wait for the price to drop, or browse the Bargain Bin for an on-sale treasure, or (you guessed it)...start a previously-downloaded one over again once enough time has passed for it to seem fresh. (As in "I've forgotten all the pertinent details anyway, so why not give it another go?") But I L-O-V-E the fact that my e-reader and my phone's Kindle app can sync with one another, placing me instantaneously at the correct "page" on either device. No matter where I am (stuck in traffic, standing around in line, hanging out in a doctor's waiting room) or which electronic item I happen to have in my bag, I never have to suffer without reading material at my very fingertips. That's definitely a score for Technology, right there...

Finally, I undertook a flurry of research about Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill this week, in preparation for our exploratory Winter Break trip. I had received the packet of information I requested from the North Carolina Chamber of Commerce, including an entire magazine of information on everything from retail centers, to neighborhoods, to schools...as well as a separate brochure listing just restaurants. (One guess as to which glossy cover caught the immediate attention of the Male Posse?) With these references, plus the notes I'd already written, I got busy. What that actually means is: I sat right here in this chair, with my laptop...Googling...stuff...such as: specific menus for some of the more promising eateries. (Since we have to consider a wide variety of tastes, the appetite of two growing boys, and a vegetarian, I've found that this is an invaluable step to complete before traveling, whenever possible...saves us from a great deal of grumpy, hungry confused bickering...)

Then there is perhaps the most crucial piece of the whole get-outta-town puzzle: a hotel to act as a home base for several nights while we do touristy things to entertain ourselves. I believe it was somewhere in the middle of perhaps my seventy-second search (I'm just estimating, here...or wildly exaggerating...whatever...) when it occurred to me: How on EARTH did people accomplish this before the blessed Internet? I mean, I get that you could telephone the establishments directly, and talk to someone at the front desk. (Ick! Dealing with...people! Shudder...) But then how could those...mere humans...possibly accommodate your required conditions, for absolutely critical stuff like "free breakfast" and "no smoking whatsoever anywhere on the property, period, end of discussion"? And how could you manage to make an intelligent decision without a grid showing you the locations of various options, along with their best price and a list of included amenities? Then, when you had eliminated all but a few, and were almost certain which one you wanted to select, how could you make your final choice without reading reviews posted by other travelers who had courageously gone before you? (What? Does that say "cockroaches"? Click cancel, CANCEL!) I guess if I think about it, I used to employ AAA Guidebooks for the same purpose, and I've survived just fine...but I'm still gonna have to give this one to Technology for the sheer amount, variety, and depth of information available via your keyboard and monitor.

So that's it--as I examine the final stats I'd have to call it a pretty even match, encompassing some futuristic victories, and a few shout-outs to the hallowed past. Now please excuse me while I power down my computer...and go read my new book!

Sunday, October 6, 2013

This calls for...a nap!

When I received the email communication from Derek's school notifying me that his Interim Grades had been posted and awaited my perusal, my first thought was "Holy Lost Month, Batman, how can it be the middle of the First Quarter already?" (This was closely followed by "Those had better be some good numbers, buddy, or the...fur's gonna fly"...or, you know, something equally threatening and terrifying...) I just couldn't fathom how this much time had gotten away from me--sure, I daydream a few minutes...or an hour...once in a while...and I've even been known to putter away a weekend on frivolous endeavors on occasion. But an entire page of the calendar? How. Is. That. Possible?

Then I actually glanced at the schedule, innocently hanging there on the wall next to the refrigerator...that white grid bearing a veritable plethora of rainbow notations covering almost every inch. (Yeah, I'm THAT person who assigns a different hue to each family member and marks their activities/obligations accordingly. Call me compulsive if you like...or maybe just...colorful? I'm totally okay with either one...or both...) Oh, now I get it...based on the visual chaos of the Master Plan, we appear to be...crazy busy. Take this past week, for example, which was pretty typical. Mondays are Errand Day #1 for me, with the absolute Top Priority being: a major stock-up-for-the-week grocery shopping extravaganza. (Which sounds so much more fun and exciting than it actually is...darn it...) I also try to make all doctor and dentist appointments on Mondays; last week's delightful visits included the chiropractor (aahhh, neck and shoulder de-kinking...) and podiatrist (mmm...foot...fixing...never mind...). Tuesdays involve me going to work, then back-to-back soccer practices for the boys. One parent shuttles them to the field, and the other one is responsible for preparing the meal they will need to devour once they arrive back home and clean up. (All I can say is: thank goodness for Costco frozen chicken patties and fish sticks. These have saved our evenings, over and over and over...)

Wednesday (or Run-Around Day #2, as it shall hereafter be known) often includes a pilgrimage to the aforementioned Costco, as well as Target. Then there are more soccer practices, with the drill proceeding as the previous evening. The only difference is, I try to go to a Yoga Class either Monday or Wednesday night, so sometimes there's rapid-fire dumping of children at home and racing back out the door to go get my stretch on. ('cuz arriving at the studio in a frazzled state is soooo good for the zen attitude I'm seeking...whatever, it's the instructor's job to help me calm down, right?) Thursday is work again, then my regular Jazz Class at 7:30. Somehow amidst all of this frenzy, homework gets done (I trust...based on those Mid-Term Grades), lunches get packed, and important papers get sorted and signed (don't ask me how, it's just some kind of...Scholastic Miracle...and we choose not to examine it too closely lest we jinx the magic...) Friday (pause for a rousing Hallelujah Chorus...resume) is just work and...collapse--I mean "relax". Except this week Derek was invited to a surprise party for one of his friends, so he was out past 10...but the rest of us totally chilled.

Moving on: the first weekend day is, of course, Soccer Saturday. We have 2 games to watch/play, at varying times, which determines whether we actually get to come home in between to regroup, or we just stay at the fields for the duration. Yesterday, as if the children hadn't already seen enough of their pals while dribbling and passing...and/or spectating at each others' matches, they arranged a Sleepover Switch, subject to parental agreement. In this scenario, the younger brothers hang out at one house, while the older brothers cozy up in the other. (This time, Husband and I opted for the 10-year-olds, which turned out well, as we were informed the next morning that the teenagers had managed to remain awake until 1:30 in the morning. So in summary, we hosted the duo that wouldn't empty our pantry, and would obey when ordered to bed at a reasonable hour. W-I-N!) Sunday morning, no sooner had the correct sons been returned to their rightful parents, when I got an email from yet another teammate of Riley's, inviting him over for a playdate in the afternoon. Of course, in order to deliver him in a non-grimy, non-smelly state, I first had to retrieve him from a neighbor's house, where he'd reportedly been playing a game they invented, called Scooter Soccer...and eating chips and hotdogs.  (Seriously? Who are these boys with the thriving social lives?)

And tomorrow morning, we start the whole circus over again. Yep, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. After a (hopefully) good night of rest, I believe my first order of business once Riley has safely been ushered onto the bus will be to stop at McDonald's for an extra-large iced coffee. That should give me enough incentive to at least tackle the food purchasing expedition!

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Whew, could've been so much worse...

Most of the time when I write these posts, I strive to put the News of the Day into some kind of context in the greater scheme of Team WestEnders. It could be an event we’ll want to remember for all time, or a story that highlights some important aspect of our Family Lore, or even a snapshot of behavior that characterizes one of the boys in their growing-up-journey. (Although I can certainly see how it may seem that my point is to highlight our foibles, for the purpose of sharing a good chuckle with the virtual world at large…and I’m not saying that doesn’t play into it, no doubt…where was I? Oh, yeah…) Today’s saga…falls into absolutely NONE of those categories. I definitely am going to do my utmost to put it out of my memory as soon as humanly possible. I never wish to repeat the experience as long as I live. And I’m not sure there’s a higher purpose to relating it…except perhaps as a cautionary tale…but I’ll let you judge for yourself…

You see, yesterday I planned to sort the basket of items I had gathered to drop off at the consignment store. This is a regular practice of evaluating and “weeding out”, but with the prospect of moving in less than a year, I’ve had “oh-my-gosh-get-rid-of-things” even more in the forefront of my brain lately. Thus there was a bigger-than-usual amount of…stuff….to be arranged (all of it perfectly usable, just not necessary to me anymore). I carefully packed the rectangular laundry basket I keep in the storage room for these trips--nestling books, clothes, a few decorations, and a rather large number of picture frames (FYI, this detail will shortly become very important…) gently into every inch of available space. When I finished, I surveyed my work with great satisfaction—an overflowing bin chock full of things that don’t need to be cluttering up my house, but that will benefit someone else. Yay for me!

Now, all that remained was to haul the bounty up the 9 narrow steps from our basement, so I could stash it in the car for my errand later in the week. (Okay, by now you’ve guessed where this is going, right? Stick with me, I promise it’s not too gruesome…) I heaved the basket up into my arms, instantly noticing, “Hmm, this is one freakin’ heavy load!” Meanwhile, a little voice of caution was chirping in my head--too quietly for me to attend to, apparently—“There’s no room to maneuver on those stairs…and besides, with the combined width and weight of that basket, you’re just asking for trouble there, lady!” So…I set it back down and waited for Husband to come home from work and lug it for me…..hahahahahahaha! Oh, that’s funny. What I meant to say was, of course I charged right up the stairs…and I almost made it, too. On the second-to-last step (dang it, soooo close!), my teetering, off-balance center-of-gravity finally caught up with me and I began to tip backwards.

I swear what happened next felt like a slow-motion sequence in a movie (albeit a violent, scary film about…The Thrift Shop of Terror…or something), yet probably took all of 2 seconds or so. I registered that I was falling, clutched desperately for the railing…which promptly ripped OFF THE WALL, so that was super helpful...and tumbled head-over-heels back down to where I’d started my perilous journey. And the traitorous basket? It crashed down after me, discharging its neatly-catalogued contents in a spectacular tableau of destruction all around me. Oh, and lest I forget to mention it, I now sat amidst a veritable sea of shattered glass, as Every. Single. Damn. Picture. Frame. Broke. during my acrobatic descent. And yet…I sprawled there, dazed from the somersaulting, shocked at the sudden disastrous turn of events…and distraught at the amount of repairing and cleaning up that would have to be done…but basically UNHURT.

That’s right, I felt sorely bumped and somewhat battered, but there was absolutely no blood whatsoever, nor did I twist, sprain, or break anything. I didn’t even really whack my head. (My best guess is that I instinctively tucked and rolled…thank you…yoga? Or dance class? Whatever, I’m extremely grateful…) After the initial period of stunned disbelief at the whole sequence of unfortunate events, I could not fathom how I had escaped serious injury. Adding to the “silver lining” (I realize I’m stretching here, just go with me…) wouldn’t you know Husband arrived home approximately ten minutes or so post-accident, and after assuring himself that the biggest victims were the banister and the stupid picture frames, completely took over the restoring of order and vacuuming of glass so I was off the hook.

I know I said this particular incident—no matter how painful or embarrassing it may have been--didn’t have any deeper significance in the Big Picture of Life…but the process of setting down the words has made me wonder: is there a Lesson To Be Learned? And I must conclude that the answer is: why yes, there are several, in fact. Number One: It turns out, I’m just not as big in the Real World as my Fantasyland mental image makes me out to be. I mean, I perceive myself as quite strong and tough…and I totally am…for 5’ 4-1/2 inches and 115 pounds. This leads immediately and directly to Number Two: There are appropriate circumstances for delegating…to the conveniently-placed people in the house that are actually larger than you. (I know, I know, this is a DUH moment…) Had I but postponed my little endeavor for the teensiest bit, Husband would have quickly and easily hoisted the basket up the stairs and into my car for me, no muss, no fuss. (LITERALLY!)


Finally, I have to also consider…could the underlying moral of the story be: Too Much Organization Can Be Hazardous to Your Health? Perhaps I’ll take a little vacation from…stuff-wrangling…and see if I'm better off for it. Well...to be perfectly honest, let's say "at least until the bruises fade"…oh, and "until next month’s basket is ready to go"…but at least I promise I’ll have my Handyman—I mean “Husband” do the toting for me!)