Sunday, December 29, 2013

More "research"

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

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

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

Saturday, December 28, 2013

A little more of the "triangle"

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

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

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

Friday, December 27, 2013

A lot of window shopping...

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

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

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

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

Virginia is for...sucky traffic!

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

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

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


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

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Christmas, unwrapped

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

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

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

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

Sunday, December 22, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, December 19, 2013

A Musical, Delightful Pageant...of Brrrrr!

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

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

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

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

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Tummy Trials

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

A Footnote (ba dump bump)

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Mars and Venus, the Adolescent Edition

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, December 7, 2013

A lot of trouble, from a little toe

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Bringing personal meaning to the term "clearance"!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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