Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Oh, boy(s)...

Today's anecdotes come under the heading "the perils of growing up". (And of course I'm referring entirely to the trauma felt by Mom...whose sweet little boys are becoming adolescent young men much, much faster than she's ready or willing to accept...) It all started at the dinner table one night (of course) when Riley made some barbed remark directed at Derek--something about how "I guess you did have a girlfriend...once..." (I know, right? O-U-C-H! And don't ask me how the mealtime discussion even got onto the topic of girls in the first place...or how in the world it immediately devolved into trash talk...sometimes the male species is just a mystery to me...)

Anyway, Derek chuckled good-naturedly and shot back, "Yeah? When are you gonna ask out a girl?" Without so much as a blink or a pause, Riley emphatically stated, "Oh, I have a list, from 1-10. I'm just deciding which one to choose...but any one of them would be happy to go out with me!" I'm sorry...WHAT THE HECK? I was frozen in shock, behind Riley with my mouth hanging open. Husband almost spit out the bite of food he was unfortunately attempting to swallow at the time. And Derek--well, he just about snarfed his milk, he was laughing so hard. Holy guacamole, where did my 10-year old pick up such enormous amounts of...playground swagger? At this rate, he's gonna be one scary individual by the time he even hits puberty! (Hear that, ladies, you've been warned by a very reliable source...) To seal his image as a...I don't know...Junior Casanova? check out the photo Husband took of my precious little darling at the Washington Auto Show last weekend...looking faaaaarrrr too comfortable...in an adorable Mini Cooper! Oh. Dear...


Now let's move on to Derek. Lately, the poor guy has taken quite a bit of flak about the fact that...the hair on his upper lip has become visible. Let me hasten to add: it's not even in the neighborhood of what one might call a "moustache". It's just a few strands, that happen to be darker than his pale skin. He also has some wispy, very blond growth on his chin--which you can't even see unless you're directly next to him, and the light is shining just right on his jawbone...you get the picture. However, he has mentioned to us that a number of his friends are already shaving. At. Age. 13. Are you kidding me? Who ever heard of boys needing razors...in Middle School? That's just a little bit horrifying, if you ask me. I mean, Husband has been taming Derek's sideburns with an electric trimmer for a while now....but actual shaving? Shudder! Suffice it to say, we've (I've) been practicing a very effective self-defense technique I call "avoiding the whole subject". Then one night we were talking about the possibility of getting Derek his own electric shaver for his upcoming birthday, and he casually tossed out, "That's good, because B (a kid at his bus stop) called me Chewbacca the other day!" Sigh. I would have to say that talking smack about facial hair is even worse than the teasing-about-chicks conversation.

So, the latest "evolution" of the younger generation in our household has me...perturbed? Confused? Nostalgic for the smooth-faced, "girls are icky" days? Yeah, put me down for all three...and wish me luck as I continue my dangerous, unpredictable journey through...Teenage Boy Land...

Saturday, January 25, 2014

because, yeah, I totally need ANOTHER job...

Ever since I started down the long and...perilous...road of a working stiff (that would be Junior year in High School, with an illustrious stint as a fast-food peon) I've had a very...let's call it "organized" framework to my days. In a nutshell, I've always operated with a set location, wage, and schedule that I could count on to remain more-or-less stable. Even when considering an hourly pay scale and variable shifts, the parameters of my professional life have been pretty consistent. Until very recently, that is. You see, I got this wacky idea, that I should look into getting hired in an editing capacity...since I can't even read anything these days without homing in on the typos, mechanical errors, misused homophones, egregious crimes committed in the area of "sentence structure"etc. (Oh, also my friends and family call me the Grammar Police...which I hope is an affectionate term. Hey, can I get a badge? And maybe a stunner?....I promise to wield it only in the case of reaaallly BAD mistakes, okay?)

So in the Fall, I signed on to a couple of freelance sites that consolidate and post a wide variety of jobs. I set up a profile, wrote a few sample cover letters, and started trolling through the feeds, looking for likely opportunities. Needless to say, with no "formal experience" to speak of (just my sincere assurance that yes, I am good at English...Cross my heart!), it was slow going in the beginning. I was also deliberately picky about what I chose to apply for, trying to ensure as best I could that 1)I really would be a good fit and 2) I got the sense that I would have a snowball's chance of being selected from the often-considerable pool of candidates. For a while...no nibbles at the job line. However, I'm nothing if not patient (Hahahahaha! Sorry, I meant "stubbornly persistent"...), so I kept at it in my "free time", spending at least a few minutes each day on the hunt.

And whattya know--it paid off. Just before Christmas, a client hired me for an ongoing project, helping him polish his short stories. Then, this month I got offered a short-term contract to work on a couple of company reports, and another ongoing gig correcting blogposts for business websites. Whoo hoo! On the one hand, of course I'm absolutely elated that I'm finally getting somewhere with this experimental endeavor. On the other hand....compared to my "regular job", I'm laboring for peanuts...so I don't see this becoming a replacement profession anytime soon. And one factor I never had to deal with before--never having been self-employed--is the exhausting and stressful nature of searching for potential employers....Every. Day.

The bottom line is: I don't know where this is going, or even whether it'll turn out to be a successful venture in the long run. I'm basically feeling my way, here, without any guidance (This is one of those situations where mentor would be nice...hmm, I wonder if you can find one of those on Amazon...) So for now, I'm going to focus on the undeniable enjoyment I get from bringing correct English to the world...one document at a time...from my Home Headquarters...while clad in my fuzzy pajamas!

Monday, January 20, 2014

Breathing Bad (but slowly getting better...)

This is one of those "good news/bad news" kind of stories...involving my kids...who (sooooo fortunately) don't get sick very often...but when they do, they tend to make it...let's say "interesting". This time it was Riley's turn, because it's MLK weekend, and he only comes down with the semi-serious stuff on federal holidays...for completely mysterious reasons. He started out with a garden-variety cold--sniffles, sneezes, sore throat, the usual. But by Saturday night in Winchester, things took an abrupt turn for the worse, and he developed a deep, hacking, continuous cough. (Which sounded like he was trying to expel a lung...and which his brother managed to sleep through entirely--even while sharing a bed. Lucky dog...) By Sunday night, he was in tears from the pain in his chest, and we knew we were in for a doctor visit today. (I'm sure our pediatrician is extremely peaceful and all that, but thank goodness the practice doesn't observe Dr. King's special day...)

Oddly enough, Riley seems to have a "wheezing issue" about once a year--and no one has been able to figure out why. It's not asthma, and there's no obvious cause we can pinpoint...it just... happens. So off we went, to have it checked out...which turned out to involve the doctor doing quite a lot of intense listening to all quadrants of Riley's lungs with a stethoscope, while Riley meanwhile attempted to take deep breaths as instructed...and coughed violently. There was also the routine peering into the ears and palpating the glands...leading to the inevitable giggling, as Riley is extraordinarily ticklish under his chin. When the doctor was finished torturing--I mean "examining"--Riley, he said that his lungs sounded "constricted". And the pulse-ox measure the nurse performed yielded a result of 92%--which I realize sounds alarmingly low, but they didn't tell me until after a successful nebulizer treatment that it's pretty much the exact breakpoint they use to determine whether or not someone should be admitted to the hospital. GULP. (It shot up to 96% with the Albuterol assist, pleasing us all...)

Since the nebulizer was effective, the doctor prescribed a continued course of treatments every four (waking) hours (phew! no middle-of-the-night-administration required...) for four days, with the extra support of an oral steroid to get this under control, and an inhaler to use instead of the machine for when he returns to school. He also wanted Riley to have an X-ray, since he'd heard a suspicious "crackle"...and wanted to rule out...pneumonia. (Wow, this just keeps getting more and more FUN! ) So we took our handful of prescriptions and our radiology order down to the basement of the medical building, where we waited some more, to have a picture taken of Riley's chest. (If I sound grumpy, it's because this had become a 2-hour odyssey...and it was encroaching on lunchtime...said my ferociously growling stomach!) Then of course there was the pharmacy trip (Husband volunteered for this one--yaaayyyy!) so we could begin plying Riley with drugs of all kinds. Several treatments later, it seems to be making a difference already, as Riley's definitely coughing less and sounding more comfortable....but he still wants to go to bed right after dinner...poor baby...

The final kicker came via phone call from the doctor later in the afternoon, when he told me the X-ray had shown what looked like....viral pnemonia. Huh. That's certainly a new one for us. So basically, he caught it like a regular old cold, but it settled into his lungs. Because it's a virus, there's no need for antibiotics--just wait for it to run its course...and medicate the heck out of it to beat it into submission. (Yeah, take that...bad germs!) I suppose I should take a moment to be grateful that we already have the nebulizer...from previous "incidents"...but look, I know I'm always going on about "trying new things" and "novel experiences"..that wasn't supposed to apply to my family's health, okay? For the record: I'm fine with a simple, annoying-but-managable...cold...next time. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go tuck in my little guy...

Sunday, January 19, 2014

The Mysteries of Winchester....

This morning we set out with renewed vigor (a hot breakfast always helps with that), determined to conquer anything that the day could possibly bring--the biting cold...the elusive Civil War history of Winchester...what have you. I had devised a cohesive plan through solid Internet research: first we would visit the Cedar Creek and Belle Grove National Park. It sounded so exciting--there would be walking, and a plantation to explore, and...other cool stuff! I confidently set my phone's GPS to guide us there, and off we went. So far, so good; we couldn't miss the huge sign proclaiming that we'd arrived at the right place...um, a field clearly visible just off the road...populated by a large herd of grazing cattle...with no discernible entrance. "Turn right," Moon Unit (the name of the invisible lady who calls out the directions...but that's a long story for another time) insisted in her polite-but-firm manner. So, to summarize our first Sunday foray into all things Winchester: we never did locate a Visitor's Center...or a way of accessing the "nature" part of the alleged park, and contrary to the website's information, the plantation did NOT in fact open at 10...but rather at 1:00. Well. We just don't have time for these shenanigans, so we bailed on the disappointment and headed for the other option: the Third Winchester Battlefield.

And...hurrah! There's a marker...and a parking lot...and an actual path! Now, we're talkin'! We optimistically strolled onto the walkway to see where it would lead us and what interesting things it would reveal. After meandering along for 15 minutes or so, the answer was a clear and resounding: NOTHING. Don't get me wrong, the scenery was lovely--grassy meadows, clusters of trees, gurgling streams--all tranquil and unspoiled. But as far as "battlefields" go, it was...how shall I put this...L-A-M-E. I voiced this to the boys, complaining, "All I need is a few cannons. Is that too much to ask? Maybe a reconstructed shack or two, with an explanation of their significance..." Riley piped up in accord, "Yeah...and statues! Where are the statues?" (Dude! That's all I'm sayin'! Thanks for the support...) So we did appreciate our time spent communing with the great outdoors, but this was a pretty obvious indication that we have, indeed, scraped the proverbial bottom of the barrel in terms of "tourist spots to try" in our region. Yep, must be time to move the heck on...

But wait, we weren't quite done--through sheer coincidence, the hotel I chose at random just happened to be situated right next to a place called the Alamo Cinema Drafthouse. Now, the moment I laid eyes on it, this building brought back a flood of fond and happy memories of the many...MANY hours I spent with friends watching movies, eating dinner (and perhaps consuming an adult beverage) at the Bethesda Cinema & Drafthouse, back in the day. (That would be "before kids", in case you were wondering). On Monday nights, when the admission was a ridiculous $1, my buddies would park at my apartment, and we would walk over together, then stand in a mile-long line to see whatever film happened to be playing. (Didn't matter if it was good or bad, or whether we were interested or not...for a buck? We'd sit through darn near anything...) Good. Times. So before we even checked into the hotel, I had already vowed we could not leave Winchester without patronizing this hallowed institution. There was but one...teensy...ever-so-minor glitch: the only kid-friendly offerings were 1) The Nut Job--which as far as I could tell involved 90 minutes of squirrels...running amok...acting stupid; or 2) Frozen--which has gotten rave reviews from critics and...everyone who's ever seen it...but in my sons' eyes represents nothing less than the absolute purest evil on this Earth: Singing. Princess. Movie.

Therefore, I mentally prepared myself for an epic clash of wills about dragging them to this torturous event. But--who could've guessed--the prospect of being fed and entertained at the same time was enough to sway the masculine minds into agreeing with me. (GASP!) Derek even said, "I don't really mind seeing Frozen, because I've heard good things about it....but if you post this on Facebook, be sure to say it was NOT my idea!" (That's a deal, my dear...and done!) And, as expected, a good time was had by all. I got to relive a nostalgic era from my past, and everyone got to nosh while viewing what turned out to be a fantastic flick. Everyone's a winner!

Then we could in good conscience vacate the 'burg of Winchester for the return to our home state. We may not have added to our Civil War knowledge, but we did accomplish my modest goals of getting out of the house, and taking a short trip.  Bonus: we even had some fun in the process. As for tomorrow? We rest! : )

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Getting Away (at least a little bit)

The kids have an extra-long MLK Weekend this year, since it coincides with the end of the school's marking period, so they tacked on a grading/report-card-prep day for teachers. I might have mentioned that we've been experiencing some...frigidness...lately, and the prospect of four days trapped in my house with the family--no matter how much I love them--made me want to run screaming for the hills. Or...drive somewhere--ANYWHERE--for a change of scenery and possibly a wee bit of excitement. (Trust me, at this time of year, it really doesn't take much to amuse me...) I know I've also lamented the fact that with all of our exploring over the years, we've pretty much covered....everything I can think of...in terms of historical/scenic/etc field trip sites. But I was undaunted ("desperate") as I dug deeply into the archives ("Google") to figure out somewhere to blow town for an overnight mini-trip. And what did my research uncover? Winchester, Virginia. (I know, right--super thrilling! Or...acceptable...told ya I'm not so picky these days...)

Originally I informed Husband I was planning to go it alone, but then I decided give the kids the opportunity to join me. At first, they were, let's say "unenthused"...even with the Civil War Battlefield carrot I dangled in front of them. (Imagine, they didn't want to tromp around yet ANOTHER cemetery and group of cannons with me...go figure...) That is, until I mentioned that I'd found a hotel with not only free breakfast (which is an absolute requirement for us these days, what with two boys to feed first thing in the morning...and someone who demands immediately-available java...not naming names or nothin') but also (drum roll) a heated indoor pool! Yep, that's how cooped-up this Winter has them feeling; the very idea of swimming was enough to motivate them to accept the semi-educational stuff with good grace. (Also, between Husband and me, they might have inherited a super-strength "wandering gene"...) There was a slight blip in their compliance (actually, more like "Nooooooo, forget it, never!") when I confessed we would be traveling to that State-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, aka "The Bane of our Very Existence" (or, for the rest of you: Virginia). However, I regained their cooperation by assuring them that the directions suggested we navigate north toward Frederick first, then west to our destination....thereby skipping the dreaded 95-South-from-Hades (as it shall be known) altogether.

So...now all that remained to be done...was pack--which normally is a pretty easy endeavor, with fashion-indifferent, non-product-using boys. However, the weather forecast was calling for a...ahem...."brisk" high of 27* (dang it!) with wind chill temps significantly lower than that. Sigh. This leads to the burning (ha!) question: how many layers, exactly, can I pile onto my frame, in an attempt to preserve what little internal body heat I produce...and still manage to actually move around? (The answer, by the way, is: 4...) Meanwhile Husband and I counseled the polar-bear-boys--who would happily clothe themselves in shorts and t-shirts year-round--about how to select appropriate attire for, say, avoiding the fun combo of frostbite and/or hypothermia. Finally we were ready to get underway, through some wide-open countryside and pleasing vistas of...whatever roads we were on, I was just happy about the lack of traffic-nonsense.

We chugged into Old Town Winchester right about lunchtime (of course, this honestly could be any hour of the day or night, with Derek along) and got out of the car to seek a promising restaurant. However, the endeavor rapidly turned into "where can we get out of this gale...FAST?" Union Jack's (which oddly enough I've patronized before...in Columbia, Maryland) fit the bill--yummy sandwiches paired with a huge heap of thick, crispy fries...mmm... Thus fortified, we gamely attempted to enjoy some of the atmosphere of the quaint little city...while shivering...and losing feeling in tender, exposed areas (poor ears and noses!). Mainly, we managed to admire a few of the stately brick buildings, and do a brief run-through of the National Cemetery, before we conceded defeat and headed off to find our hotel. Once we'd warmed up to room temperature again, the boys--in an almost astonishing display of goodwill--consented to try one more place before wrapping up the sightseeing portion of our day.

Since it was "right down the street" according to the chipper Front Desk clerk, we opted for Kernstown Battlefield. Happily, it was in fact located a short distance from our home base. Tragically, it was closed--front gates locked up tight--for the season. What the heck? In all the years I've been traipsing around visiting these kinds of parks, I think this is the very first time I've ever encountered one that was completely shut down for half the year. Thwarted by the Confederates, we returned to our hotel for the much-anticipated indoor pool party. Well, the boys splashed and frolicked...and I just sat in the nice, steamy room with them, relaxing. (A bathing suit in January? The very thought gives me chills...) Dinner at a local fast-food Chinese place called the Wok Zone, hot showers, a little ESPN, and then we'll hit the sack to rest up for the Second Battle of Winchester...I mean "Winchester Tourism, Day 2"! (I already checked, the OTHER two battlefields are open all year, so we're good...and we will lead the attack...right after our free breakfast buffet...and lots of hot beverages...)

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

2 Down (yippee!), 2 go Go (sighhhh....)

Yes, it's that time of year again, folks. All but the most...spirited? unmotivated-to-undecorate?...have darkened their holiday lights. Christmas music and TV specials have disappeared from the airwaves. So now, we're left with...the rest of Winter. (And in my opinion, what's the use of cold and dreary, without festivities? Bah, humbug!) Around here, it's turning into a split-personality season, at that. Last week we survived the frigid Polar Vortex (I soooo need a t-shirt with that slogan...or maybe a nice wool pullover would be more realistic...), but both Monday and today, I went for a daytime walk without a coat. (Dear Climate-Control-Customer-Service: put me down for "strongly prefers the mild version of January". Thanks.) All I can say is, it's waaaayyy too early for me to start with Spring Fever symptoms...but unless they come up with a vaccine by, say, February 1st, I'm pretty sure it's a given.

It's also nearing the end of the school year's Second Quarter (one moment: yaaayyyyy!) which marks the halfway point. For Riley, this honestly doesn't mean much. Of course, he'll get a Report Card...and then his academic life will continue along, same as usual. (Ah, the blessed simplicity of Elementary School...) For Derek, there's a bit more...excitement. (I'm sure he wouldn't describe it quite like that, but...who's asking him, anyway?) He has Semester Exams in all of his classes, several of which will get recorded on his High School Transcript for credit, assuming he does well. (And if I have anything to say about it...oh wait, I have absolutely no influence on the outcome whatsoever...drat! Nothing to do but cross fingers, then...)

He's at an age when I pretty much trust that he'll handle his...scholarly responsibilities...and mostly this does, in fact, occur. But every once in a while he causes me a slight scare. (I almost suspect he has a nefarious plot to do this on a regular basis...just to keep me on my toes...it works...) For example, last night when I asked what exams he had to prepare for, he responded with, "Pshh, just P.E...and Science." Um, okay--I can understand the cavalier attitude from Athletic Boy towards gym class, but the other one might actually, you know, COUNT? He waved a hand dismissively and retorted, "Even if I get a 64%, it won't ruin my A for the quarter." Oh, well that's good....I mean, hold on just one cotton-pickin' minute, mister! Firstly, how the heck do you know that? Sure, I get that it's just a mathematical average, and all, but what I'm really asking is: why have you bothered to calculate that particular formula? Hmmmm? On second thought, never mind--just go to your room...and study!

Whew! Sometimes I think Mom should get a quarterly Parental Progress Report...with categories such as "Supporting Student Learning", "Grade Monitoring", and "Homework Checking" ...and if I perform to a high standard, I could earn...I don't know...time off for good behavior? Preferably at a toasty, serene beach somewhere? Now if you'll excuse me, I really need to look into implementing such a program...ASAP!

Friday, January 10, 2014

Can I Get a Do-Over?

I've had to be an active practitioner of self-editing--the verbal variety--for years, ever since my professional days working in a school setting amongst the rampaging herds of miniature, innocent-eared people. (Yes, "students"). Very early on, it became second nature to refrain from, say, cursing, lest one be overheard (and possibly tattled on...and made to sit in the corner during recess, which no one wants, right?) This ingrained habit of curbing my tongue continued to serve me well when I became a parent, and had to expand my censorship to include anything that might be the slightest bit...inappropriate...around the kiddos. (You know: upsetting news stories, shocking celebrity behavior..."S-E-X"...) But...sigh...every once in a while, something slips out that I wish I could snatch back--maybe not immediately, but after I've had a proper chance to be horrified that I actually said XYZ in front of my beloved, sheltered children. (Okay, just let me cling to that illusion...I know better, but reaaallly don't wanna think about it...)

Anyway, I was in my room chatting with Riley, when Derek came sauntering in, freshly showered and dressed for bed. I glanced over at him and noticed that the boy who normally chooses the loudest colors in his wardrobe, then purposely mixes them for the most obnoxious effect possible...had (gasp) matched his attire. I mean, the socks brought out the subtle turquoise stripes in his lounge pants perfectly--it was so...unexpected...and well-done...(and quite possibly accidental) But then, without a moment's hesitation to consider the possible repercussions of what I was about to say, I remarked, "Derek, the fact that your footwear matches your pajama bottoms is very metrosexual of you." (I know, right? Where did THAT come from? I remember seeing the term in magazines a few years back, but now I'm thinking: I have no idea if it's even an acceptable word or not. I mean, it just sounds like the kind of expression that would offend....someone...doesn't it? And if that's the case, allow me right now to sincerely apologize and promise it will never happen again...)

Meanwhile, though, it was almost worth it, for the priceless looks on my boys' faces. They both sat staring at me, their mouths wide open and eyebrows somewhere up in their hairlines. (I admit I savored this for a pause...) Then Derek managed to gasp, "What the HECK?" And Riley, his demeanor suddenly guarded, asked in a small voice, "Are we talking about something I'm not going to learn until my Family Life Unit in the Spring?" Before I could stop chuckling and address that, he added in a thoughtful tone, "And...I don't think 'Metros' are....um, you know..."

Soooo, it was time for...damage control? I elaborated on the unfamiliar word for them: 'a fashionable man, who is very particular about his outfit and accessories, and how they are all tied together'. Thinking it best to include an illustration, I used one of their friends as an example--who at one point was dressing for school by not only choosing his shirt and trousers, but also coordinating his belt and watch. (Oh, and he was 8 or 9 at the time...) Although these concepts are as foreign to my children as, say, speaking Swahili would be, when they pictured their buddy they both lit up with comprehension and exclaimed, "Oh, we get it!"

Whew! Let's just move right along, and leave that topic well enough alone, shall we? Not my finest Mom Moment, to be sure. I can only hope there are no unforeseen consequences...well, beyond the fact that all of this has made me a bit nostalgic for some old episodes of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy...I'll be downstairs, quietly watching Bravo...and hopefully staying out of trouble!

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Our own little Antarctic-like Interlude

It seems just a trifle...ridiculous...to spend the first post of January talking about something as mundane as the weather, (because, yeah, I NEVER mention that topic in this space...oh wait...never mind...) but really, it's uppermost on everyone's mind right now. You might say it's the "hot topic"...except that would be a horrible pun...as we shiver our way through record-shattering low temperatures and wind chills. Nothing quite says Happy New Year like Mother Nature getting all...historic...on us, right? I mean, when I checked my phone first thing this morning, the handy homescreen--weather-widget blandly informed me that it was...1*. Then as I stood there staring at it, frozen (ha!) in confusion and disbelief, my ears picked up the sound of the gusting wind outside, rushing past our house...and it occurred to me that I don't even want to know what unholy negative number it actually feels like out there when the air touches your skin.

I'm not sure if this is actually comforting information...but it's not only us. In the dentist's office yesterday, I read on the CNN ticker that Minnesota schools were cancelled...for wind chill factors of 55 below zero. Now, normally I'd scoff and say, "Aren't they used to that kind of thing? Don't they just put on their big boy...long underwear...and go about their business...chopping firewood, hunting in the forest for their breakfast, and so forth? It's the hardy Midwest, for crying out loud!" But there's just something very, very wrong with this whole scenario. More evidence of the--I don't know, upcoming Ice Zombie Apocalypse?--I also saw that it was more frigid in Atlanta...than Alaska. There's just no excuse for that, I tell ya!

In the small ecosystem of my own house, this phenomenon has caused quite the...um...fashion crisis, if you will. What it boils down to is this: the boys have been forced by these intemperate conditions to...wear long pants! I know: GASP! In fact, while Derek was loitering--I mean "waiting for the bus"--outside his school yesterday, the principal strolled by and struck up a conversation. (And by the way, good for her, chatting with the inmates...um "students"....to maintain morale...or whatever...) She mentioned the forecast, and according to Derek, pointed at his bare knees and warned, "I don't want to see any of that!" (So there you have it, the voice of authority and reason (who's not called "Mom") has ordered you to cover your legs...ha!) There have of course been other effects of the penguin-friendly weather, such as the fact that I utterly refused to walk Riley to the bus stop today. (Derek got a ride on Husband's Hyundai's heated seats--spoiled brat!) Annnnd....I had no sensation in my fingers after I pushed the cart from the relative warmth of Costco through the parking lot to my car and finished loading my purchases. (You know--the Maryland version of "scouring the woods for my breakfast". Hey, it counts...)

Thankfully, this should all be over (at least for us here in the Winter-Wimpy Mid-Atlantic) tomorrow, when it's predicted to warm up to a sweltering...27*. Whoo hoo! (Yeah, that was sarcasm...) Then we can all get back to our regularly scheduled activities--such as counting the days and weeks until blessed Spring arrives--and forget we ever unfortunately were introduced to the term Polar Vortex (not that I bothered to find out what that actually means...although it does have a cool sound...but I still want it to Go. The. Heck. Far. AWAY!) For tonight, there's nothing better to do than stay inside with fleecy pajamas, an entertaining book and a nice glass of wine (you know, to "warm you from the inside"...or some such nonsense...whatever, works for me!) Somebody wake me for a weather-check in March...

Friday, January 3, 2014

Winter is wearing out its welcome (yeah, already...)

It simply boggles my mind (which really isn't as difficult as it sounds, but whatever...) to think that it was less than a year ago that I was overtaken by the lunatic notion (to my disbelieving family, anyway) of vacating the state of my birth once and for all, and hightailing it to parts unknown. You might recall the proverbial straw that broke the writer's--um, "camel's"--back was a late-Winter snowfall that had the audacity to occur on the first day of my kids' Spring Break. From that moment, I became single-mindedly focused (some might say obsessed...they might not be wrong...) on getting my cold-weather-loathing self settled somewhere that the blasted white stuff never happens. The rest of the year--you know, amidst our "regular life"--seemed to be consumed by a whole lotta researching, discussing, planning...and at long last, some traveling. All of this toil and trouble (ah, who am I trying to kid--most of it was super-fun) paid off in spades when we finally pinpointed our next proposed place of residence, namely the lovely college town of Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Over the boys' Winter Vacation from school, Team WestEnders enjoyed a splendidly entertaining and productive southern sojourn...during which the temperatures cooperated beautifully by remaining true to their promised averages: around freezing overnight, but warming up to 50* or better during the daytime. We spent many pleasing hours outside taking advantage of the...well, to us it felt downright "balmy"...conditions. Yep, we all agreed we could definitely get used to this kind of climate...which leads me to a conversation I overheard one morning over breakfast at the hotel, that I found highly amusing. (The talk, not the food...just in case that wasn't entirely clear...) You see, the place was virtually overrun with teenagers during our stay, and one couldn't help eavesdropping on their chatter. (Since they were...um..."loud"...and the tables in the eating area were practically on top of each other...) One girl who seemed to be from out of town asked another girl--apparently a local--if they ever got snow in the area. The Carolinian's response was to burst into immediate, sarcastic laughter, then snort derisively, "If we get this much (fingers held approximately a quarter-inch apart), everything shuts down. If there's so much as a flake, everything is closed. If there's even a forecast of snow..." (Well, you get the picture...)

At the time, this caused me to chuckle for the simple reason that, here in the Mid-Atlantic region, we do get winterish precipitation in the form of snow and ice...but it's not really what you'd call "dealt with" very well. Things slide quickly into panic mode on the roads and in terms of school cancellations...which earns us much mocking (rightfully so, I personally think) by those hardier souls who live farther up the Eastern seaboard in, say, New York or New England. (Not to mention the crazy Midwest, but they're a whole 'nother story, aren't they?) So now, I find it hysterical that I am headed to a place where Maryland will look like...the tough, resilient "north". Ha! Am I prepared to become an even more pathetic weather wimp? YOU BETCHA!

It's also ironic that as I type this, there's snow on the ground...again...and the parts of the roadways and sidewalks that didn't get plowed or shoveled today have solidified into...pretty much hockey rinks. Schools were closed today...for the third time already this Winter, and it's barely January. And can I just mention the charming 12* with a wind chill of -3? Holy guacamole, what is this, Chicago?  Let me just point out how highly unusual all of this is for us...and how I get it, already! Jeez, as if I needed any more convincing that I should get the heck up on outta here, my last Winter seems bound and determined to seal the deal with a frozen exclamation point. So in order to survive this nonsense as best I can, I'll put on some wool socks...and another layer of fleece...and wrap my hands around a hot mug of tea...and hibernate until our next trip to North Carolina...hey, the long MLK weekend is right around the corner...