Thursday, February 27, 2014

Where's the Guidance Office When You Need It?

Sometimes in the course of our lives, as we're just chugging along, dealing with our day-to-day obligations and such, we suddenly experience a moment of...self-enlightenment. It can strike out of the blue, but when it does, it may offer us an invaluable snippet of understanding about who we are, where we're headed, and what we want out of life. Or...it might be 100% crystal-freakin'-clear that this nugget of wisdom stems from...an aching...posterior, and an undeniable need to get the heck on up out of an increasingly-uncomfortable chair. Hmm...perhaps I should explain...

It all began when my recent foray into freelance editing started me thinking: "You know, I've never really had what you'd call a 'desk job'." I'm not saying I've been leading safaris or climbing mountains for a living, but there's always been some level of movement inherent to my livelihood--even if it's just strolling from one classroom to another or traveling between buildings. The important thing to remember here, for the purposes of our discussion, is that it involves standing up, stretching one's body, and going somewhere.

So now let's contrast my current gig...in which I'm sitting, staring intently at a computer screen, adding necessary commas, fixing awkward word choices, clarifying vague pronoun references, mercilessly chopping run-on sentences, enforcing parallel structure rules, relocating misplaced modifiers, reconciling subject/verb disagreements, brutally hacking out passages that seem not even to have been written in English and therefore Just. Make. No. Sense. WHATSOEVER. (Oh dear. Somewhere along the line I've gone from somewhat-benevolent Grammar Officer to...Totalitarian Syntax Dictator, haven't I? Sigh...) Where was I? Oh, yeah...I find that...how should I phrase this...I D-E-T-E-S-T being stuck in a seated position. It makes me feel antsy, then grouchy, then...compelled to get off my butt and walk somewhere--anywhere--else. So yeah, I'm not seeing this becoming a new career, unless it's very, very part-time.

Another thing I've discovered on my journey into deep, meaningful insight into my own character...or whatever...is that I miss the social aspects of my employment. You know what I'm talking about: "co-workers". People to chat with, collaborate with, mull over professional issues with...eat lunch with... Unless I start up an Editor's Society...in my tiny little work nook (because I don't actually have such lofty accessories as an "office"...or a "desk"...these are dreams for the new house...) this kind of environment is not gonna happen. So, to sum up: I need a more active means of making a living--preferably one with real fellow human beings involved.

So, I started pondering the age-old question...what do I like? Well, the outdoors, obviously. And physical endeavors. That's as far as I got in the whole "figure out the next step in life" process before I decided to share my thoughts one morning. (I blame the caffeine...) I was sort of hoping to "think out loud" for the purpose of bouncing ideas off an audience and brainstorming with some additional problem-solvers (those of my beloved family, in case you were wondering). Here's how that went:

Me: (after providing the background, in much more abbreviated form) "I've been wondering if I could maybe do something with parks..." (at that point I trailed off--ha! sorry--because I actually hadn't gotten any further in developing the possibility in my own mind...)

Husband: (helpfully) "You need a Parks and Recreation degree for that...and a brown uniform!" (I should have known this was headed nowhere good, but did I grab my java and back away? Sadly, no...) I didn't even have time to formulate an appropriate--or pithy--response to this gem, before his eyes lit up and he exclaimed, with all the misguided enthusiasm of a Career Counselor gone totally off the rails, "I know! You can be an OUTDOOR...YOGA INSTRUCTOR (pausing to deliver his grand finale with a flourish)...for the DEAF! Oh. Good. Grief. I found it impossible to even begin to address that the flaws in that brilliant plan--like "how would you sign...in Downward Dog?" Or "can you fingerspell the names of the poses in Sanskrit? 'Cuz I certainly can not."

Suffice it to say, this brought the whole "find Johna a new path in life" conversation to a screeching halt. (At least I escaped with my huge honkin' mug of joe...) However, I am a firm believer in the credo that "something will turn up." So for now I'll just have to practice patience. (Hahahahahaha! Whew, that was a good one...) What I meant to say was, I'll make an attempt to be serene and wait for the universe to reveal what's next for me. In the meantime, there are some English messes calling my name, so I'm going to excuse myself to go make the world safe for the written word...one cleaned-up sentence at a time.

Monday, February 24, 2014

Febu-where-did-it-go?

You know how every time you turn around, it's some kind of memorial or awareness month, like Black History month or Heart Health month or...Eat More Chocolate...season. (Wait, that's not a real thing? Then what the heck have I been doing...since December? Oops, my bad...) Anyway, given the way that this particular page of the calendar has been proceeding, I hereby propose that February be decreed: Whiplash Month. I mean, we've had seemingly endless days and weeks of frigid, gray, snow-and-icy...blahness...that locked both brain and body in a deep freeze and trapped all of us mercilessly inside. And then all of a sudden this past weekend we were gifted with a meteorological boon: a glorious respite of sunshine and balmy temperatures, the kind of interlude when the boys--who rarely miss a meal for any reason if they can help it--keep playing outside right through lunch because they don't want to miss a minute of the beautiful, hospitable outdoors.

Meanwhile, chronological time had appeared to be d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g when our region was held captive by the Polar Vortex, and in self-defense we sort of slid into a modified Hibernation Mode. (You know, like the bears: hiding in a cave--um, "bedroom"--sleeping a lot, waking up to stretch, growl and toss back some food once in a while....or maybe that's just me...) And then, whoooaaaa--the clock just suddenly jackrabbited forward...and it's practically the end of February? I mean, I know it's a short month, and all, but Holy Time Warp, Batman, how did those past three weeks just...vanish into thin air? (And more importantly, can we get an extension on the Eat More Chocolate...quarter?)

And speaking of holding patterns: the Big Move...a plan that's been at a standstill for approximately E-V-E-R. La la la, twiddling thumbs, whistling...waiting. But hold on--we finally have some action...or at least the promise of some eventual...major events...or something. Husband and I have a meeting set for next Friday with the Real Estate Agent to sign the necessary stack of paperwork and get this show on the road (or rather "on the market"). First, though, I had the all-important consultation with (drum roll), the "Stager". This is the woman who would come in to our home, cast a critical eye around the space, and make suggestions as to how we could best present it to potential buyers. I have to admit, I found myself feeling a bit antsy before her arrival...wandering through the rooms, tidying, noticing flaws I'd become so accustomed to that I'd forgotten that they existed, obsessing over what she was going to say. What if she HATED EVERYTHING? (Excuse me, I'm getting too emotional...I'd better go get some calm-down-chocolate...Memo to Me: I might need an intervention to recover from embracing the Eat More Chocolate...lifestyle...)

Well, I shouldn't have worked myself into a tizzy (yeah, pretty much the Story of My Life...), because all she really recommended were some minor alterations. You know, the obvious stuff like "put away some of the personal photos" (Absolutely. Done.) and "clear the kitchen counters a bit so they look as large as possible" (Of course. On it.) and "move this chair and ottoman to the other side of the room so there's an open pathway and it gives the illusion of more room" (Wow! That's totally better! Why didn't I ever think of that? Oh, I mean: not a problem.) and finally, "clean off the pack-rat's--I mean 'Riley's' desk so there's less clutter to distract the eyes". (Um...yeah....about that...we'll work on it and do our best, and that's all I can give ya...)

Not only was it a relief, but it ended up being kind of fun, because after school, Derek got enthused about helping me complete some of the things on the list (especially when I relayed her comment that nothing needed to change in his bedroom because "it looks like a teenager lives there"...and that was completely fine with her...) We flitted about the house, shifting a table out of the corner, opening the ping-pong table to highlight the basement as a "recreational space", clearing the refrigerator of magnets and comics and school certificates and Orioles collector cups and...other random items that were all-the-heck-over-it somehow.

Okay, so that's entirely enough organizing and rearranging and de...junking for one day. I feel quite pleased with what we accomplished. I feel so good, in fact, that I just might celebrate...if I can remember where I safely stored the chocolate...

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Of love and...other things....

With any luck, our siblings are a joy and a blessing in our lives (yes, even when they inevitably drive us nuts...or...ahem...vice versa...) and the relationships between us are something to be treasured. Husband and I have always been glad that our sons (mostly) get along and enjoy each other's company--but I have to admit that there are times I wish I could lock them away in separate rooms and forever prevent all forms of contact...and...let's call it the Monkey See, Monkey Do Phenomenon.

I mean, I get it: the younger kids in the family learn from observing and hearing and looking up to and mimicking their adored older siblings. This is normal and expected and mostly a positive thing. But when the topic of the lesson is...girls? Ay yi yi. The 10-year old does not need to be mucking about in those tumultuous waters (says his mother, quite adamantly). So...it recently came to light that Riley just might "like" someone in his class. I overheard bits and pieces of some quiet muttering between the boys, but I wasn't getting enough information to satisfy my rampant curiosity--I mean "to offer my support and guidance--so I quizzed him directly. With a sly, secretive grin he admitted that there was indeed an object of his affection...but he declined to share a name. (RATS!) Subsequent interrogations...um, "casual questions"...caused him to reveal that he had formulated a plan...to ask her out....on Valentine's Day. Okay, let's just pause for a moment here and ask ourselves: What. The. HECK? Who is this little Romeo, and where did he get such ideas? (And as so often seems to be the case these days, I find myself utterly amused...and also tremendously horrified...)

However, he did finally confide in me one afternoon (yaaayyy!), whispering the young lady's name in my ear. He went on to describe his very organized and well-though-out scheme, "I know what I want to do. I saw a frog in the Hallmark store that I want to buy for her. That way it'll be personal, because I like frogs so much." (I had to interrupt here just for a second and ask the obvious practical question, "Does she know about you and frogs?" Sitting in his room, surrounded by a myriad of stuffed frogs, frog posters, books about frogs, frog knick-knacks...he replied simply and without even a touch of irony, "Well, it's kinda hard NOT to..." Point taken. Proceed...) Suppose we just gloss right over the fact that this child wants to purchase a Valentine's Day present for a girl...in 5th grade. (Good grief...) He completed his explanation of Operation Girlfriend by stating, "I'm gonna start getting stuff together on Tuesday night, with a card...a homemade one, not like the kind you buy in Hallmark, with all those sappy love sayings on them. (Sigh. I just have no words, at this point...and yet I'm still babbling....funny how that works...)

So we did, in fact, make the arduous (5-minute) journey to the Hallmark store and pick up Smitten, the adorable pink amphibian Beanie Baby. Meanwhile, Riley let slip that he intended to profess his feelings via the written word, in his card. But all three members of his loving family put the kibosh on that idea pretty quickly. Of course, he was worried about being rejected, which is perfectly natural. (And painful, soooooooo awful....maybe you're not ready....there's always High School...or even College...) My angle was that girls prefer to be asked in person, because it's more special and memorable. I believe the Male Posse conveyed something more along the lines of, "Man up, dude--chicks want you to ask them to their face, not in some lame card." (Gotta love 'em...)

Then the goshforsaken snow happened...again...canceling school and temporarily whiting out the class celebrations. Riley therefore was granted ample time to finalize the details of his big conversation with his classmate...and then there was just the waiting...through the storm...and President's Day...until at long last the postponed Hearts-and-Flowers soirees could commence. This morning before bopping off to school, Riley solemnly shared, "I'm worried she'll say she doesn't want a boyfriend. She might just want to be friends." (So young...so worldly-wise...how did this happen?) I offered him sympathy and well-wishes...and then thought about it often today, wondering what was going to transpire. When he arrived home in the afternoon I nonchalantly inquired, "So, how was the party?" "Good," he responded, "and before you ask, I didn't have time, because I had to finish a writing assignment." Drat! Now we have to continue with bated breath for at least one more day...the suspense just might slay me! Stay tuned for our next episode...and keep your fingers crossed!



Thursday, February 13, 2014

Again with the Winter...

I do NOT want to be one of those people who moans/whines/grouches...writes...about the weather all the dang time, but oh well, here goes anyway: holy guacamole, folks, this Winter is KILLIN' me! (Okay, not literally, but more in a "the constant frigidity and frequent frozen-precipitation is sucking the very life out of me" way...and apparently, increasing my inherent Drama Factor as well...) Remember that it was last year, the first day of the kids' alleged Spring Break, that we experienced the proverbial "snowflake that broke the camel's...um, 'woman's'... back". It was on that day that Operation Relocation was hatched with a vengeance. Since then it's undergone a couple of major amendments, but the idea that has remained constant is that this is my Final. Winter. In. Maryland. As such, can I just express how much it has...um, how to put this delicately...S-U-C-K-E-D?

Each time we've been pummeled with the white stuff, I have comforted myself with the thought that it's "the last time I'll have to deal with this nonsense...or shovel...possibly ever". Well, so far I've...enjoyed...about four such "last Winter storms ever" (and counting, as there's unfortunately lots of the season left, and plenty more time for...more torture...) and frankly, it's getting a bit ridiculous. In our county, schools have now been closed 7 days--3 more than are built into the calendar for such events--and even though this week's will be excused, due to the declared State of Emergency, at this rate they'll be making them up until, oh, approximately July 4th. Happy....Still-Stuck-In-Class-Day, right?

Anyway, at least this time, when we went out to clear the driveway and the sidewalk leading to our front door...and the street in front of our property (so the plow--when it eventually shows up, that is--won't re-block us in)...and our neighbors' driveway and the steps leading up to their house (because they're an older couple, and shouldn't be even attempting to tackle over a foot of wet, weighty snow)...we had three capable bodies available for the task...as Derek has been taller, heavier--and quite possibly stronger--than me for a while now. Not the kind of family bonding I'd necessarily choose, but it'll have to do for the moment...until we can resume our preferred kinds of activities...like hiking...and training for the Springtime 5Ks that we did last year...(Wistful sigh...)

At least the boys are fairly gleeful that they're getting their fair share of a "real Winter" (and then some) before we move away. But even they are beginning to long for such delightful things as warmer temps, outdoor time spent in shorts and t-shirts...soccer practice. As for me, I can strongly assert that at this point, I would rather face the...Zombie Apocalypse than the...Snowpocalypse. So, if the Weather Gods are listening at all, groundhog be...darned...bring on the Spring....PLEEEEAAAASSSSEEEE!

Not so much helping...

Definitely helping...

And...DONE!

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Random Unrelated Bits...

This weekend I went on another one of my "purge rampages", casting a critical eye around our house and mercilessly "designating for assignment" (the options for AAA or AA in this case being 'outright donation' or 'consignment shop') stuff that we don't need. Various small shelves; Derek's beanbag that he never sits in, but that acts as a depository for his clean laundry until he condescends to put it away; toys from phases in the boys' lives that have been outgrown--all items that have been perfectly useful, but aren't worth the bother of packing up, setting aside valuable real estate in a truck, driving to NC, unpacking, and figuring out where to use (or even if they'll fit) in a new home. (I swear, it's not like I wake up in the morning and think, "Let's run amok through the house, decluttering in a mad frenzy...it just sort of...happens...)

One of the first things I did was the seasonal-clothes-check, to determine what apparel Derek has outgrown that can be passed down to his brother....which turned out to be...most of his wardrobe. Sigh. This is par for the course, unfortunately, so we're somewhat used to it. But one thing that stuck out this time was a pair of dress pants (Size 16--this is crucial information) that I'm pretty sure I bought for Derek last year (age 12 being the other important reference point)...that fit Riley perfectly. Gulp. What this means to me is that my 10-year old is getting much MUCH too big, much MUCH too early. My tenure as..."not the shortest person in the family" is becoming scarcer practically by the day, I tell ya...

And while we're on the subject of "growing up too doggone quickly", we had a huuuuuuge event transpire this weekend: Derek's first shave. (I know, right: SERIOUSLY?) Husband took it upon himself to pick up an electric shaver on the way home from work Friday night, because Derek was becoming a bit self-conscious about the hairs on his upper lip. What followed was a detailed instructional session, conducted in the hall bathroom, about how to use the device. I mean, it was like a full-on YouTube how-to video, complete with the demonstration step, then the practice run...and continuous color and play-by-play commentary from Dad. All of this was naturally captured by Mom, crowded into the teensy-weensy space with them, camera held at the ready to capture the milestone moment. (Precious family memories...or future blackmail...mwah hah hah!!) Derek seemed quite pleased with the result, and I do have to admit that the absence of dark fuzz above his mouth was noticeable. Sniffle...yet another not-my-baby-anymore moment...

One final note on that topic: one day I went into Derek's room to ask him something, and happened to catch a glimpse of what he was engrossed in, on his phone. I'm used to seeing SportsCenter highlights, but oh, no, this was definitely not ESPN. I recognized the colorful, childishly-drawn cartoon characters instantly...my son was amusing himself by watching an episode of...South Park. Now, back in its heyday, when it was novel and cutting-edge and hilariously-subversive, (and wildly-inappropriate, did I mention that?) I used to watch it. That's right, me. Derek was astonished that I had recognized it so quickly and easily. He was also...horrified? bewildered? impressed? (Possibly all 3 to some extent...) that I knew precisely what was going on. (His cheeks turned several shades of pink--adorable...) I inquired how he had come across this particular...gem...and his simple answer was, "I have friends!" (Ahh, and to think I used to like those friends...)

I honestly wasn't sure how I felt about the situation, so I chose not to issue any kind of Motherly Decree until I'd had time to ponder...and consult Husband. When I shared the story with the other half of the ruling Parental Party, he was...decidedly unperturbed. Actually, his exact words were, "Eh, it's rude, stupid humor...perfect for teenage boys!" Huh. It didn't occur to me to consider it that way, but of course he's absolutely right. Furthermore, he came up with the following perfectly reasonable rules, which I speedily agreed to and imposed: 1) under no circumstances will you EVER show this to your younger brother; and 2) we will never hear, say, "Cartman language" (even the "bleeped" variety) issuing from your mouth. The next time I interrupted his viewing of the show, he asked if he was allowed to continue. "If you must," I noncommittally answered. "I don't have to, if you don't want me to," he replied. (Aww, that's my well-behaved boy--just allow me my delusions, okay?) But I relented, and relayed what his dad and I had discussed. The terms were accepted, and that closed the matter....at least until I discover he's into something worse...fingers crossed that I have a nice, long break before that happens! (Again with the happy state of oblivion...for as long as humanly possible...)

Friday, February 7, 2014

A Scholarly Story...Sort of...

Early in my academic career, my parents impressed upon me that learning was very important. I took that lesson to heart, and therefore approached school quite seriously. (Yeah, yeah: "Nerd Girl", I know...) So of course with my own children, I preach the same sort of mantra--this is your job, you must always try your best, blah blah blah.

Now, I'm not sure whether it's because he's such a laid-back kind of guy...or because he's a teenager...but Derek seems to accept this more as, say, a suggestion--albeit a forceful one--than the inarguable Rule for Life that it's meant to be. (Well...at least according to his MOTHER...) He always relates to me enviously the sagas of his friends whose parents take them out of school for family vacations. What gets his green-eyed-monster even more riled up, however, is when certain buddies are allowed to stay home the day before a long break...just because nothing crucial is going to be happening in the classrooms that day. Of course, this may or may not be reliable information, depending on how much adolescent embellishment and/or half-honest bragging is occurring in the cafeteria-chat-situation. But no matter how much truth is in the tale, one thing I have made abundantly clear: Don't even bother to ask...Not. Gonna. Happen. He did make an attempt to weasel his way out of attending school the Friday leading up to MLK weekend. Which I shot down practically before he could get the words out of his mouth. "But, we're just going to be watching movies!" he pleaded. Nothing doing. So he backpedaled, "Okay, how about I sleep in, and you drive me there...2nd period?" I'm sorry, exactly which part of "not a snowball's chance" is causing you difficulty, my precious child?

In startling contrast, there's his brother--who seems to be developing into a strong combination of me...and Hermione Granger. At my conference with his teacher in the Fall, she told me that sometimes he gets upset in class when he doesn't understand something immediately. (Inwardly, I winced and thought "Um, yeah...I apologize...blame his maternal genes....) And...he seems to put a great deal of pressure on himself to succeed, even in the complete absence of any outside demands on his performance. (Sigh. I'm sooooo sorry, honey. The good news is, I got over it by Middle School, when I gained enough confidence...and common sense...to realize that the world would NOT end if I got a question wrong on a test. Phew, was THAT a relief...so hang in there, buddy, and tough it out for the last few months of 5th grade, and all will be well...I hope...)

Fortunately, he seems to have settled in and be dealing well--to the point that he often comes home from school and happily shares pertinent facts about what they're studying, and raves about how interesting it is. Most of the time, Derek shakes his head ruefully, favors him with a bemused smile and says something like, "How are you even my brother?" However, this morning Riley announced at about 8:30 that his chest hurt and felt tight. I recommended that he use his handy-dandy inhaler, to see if it would solve the issue. But at 8:45 or so, when he was loading up his backpack to head out, I heard him crying. Naturally, I was concerned, and asked if he felt bad enough to stay home. Tearfully he shook his head, "No, I want to go to school." I eyed him doubtfully, prepared to swing either way, depending on how the conversation went in the next minute or so. When I made up my mind shortly thereafter and opined that it might be better for him to stay home and rest, he emphatically asked, "Can't I just try to make it through school?" It wasn't until after I'd put my foot down and declared that he was indeed going to be homebound for the day, that I was suddenly struck by the ludicrous nature of this exchange. "You must remain at home, playing video games, watching TV, reading, and being tended by Mom...instead of going to "work"...and that's my final word, young man!" (And yes, when he arrived in the afternoon and heard the story, Derek called him a "weirdo". No, no, we prefer "Dedicated Student"...or "Nerd Boy" will suffice...)

So there you have it, not quite the Felix and Oscar of our little academic ecosystem...but very different creatures, nonetheless. No matter, as long as they continue to get their "job" done, receive good reviews from their boss (um, make that "Report Cards" from their "Instructor"), and weather the occasional sick day, it's all good, I suppose...

Thursday, February 6, 2014

The Arts Rotation

I am soooo not what you'd call an "artsy" person. I mean, sure, I'm definitely an art-appreciator--I listen to classical music on occasion, and I've been known to visit museums to enjoy what other, creatively-gifted people have made. But as for my own talent? Let's put it this way: if my life were hanging in the balance, and my very survival depended upon my drawing or painting something beautiful...or even...accurate...you might as well start lamenting my untimely demise, immediately. (And don't even get me started on that special circle of Hades that shall be known as "crafts"....shudder...) Nope, give me a pen (or...laptop, as it were), or a camera, and that's how I allow my "inner expression" to come out...or what have you...

However, my children have recently startled me with a sudden...spate of....artistic...ness. For Riley, I guess it shouldn't have been a surprise--this is the kid who never met a design project he didn't like. Paint-your-own-whatever kits? Check. Planning and executing a model of a honeybee for a school assignment? Oh, yeah. And that new craze where you make bracelets out of rubber bands, on a loom? All. Over. It. (Where he gets his enthusiasm for this stuff, I have no idea, because if possible, Husband is even LESS art-inclined than I am...go figure...) So on the way to the bus stop this morning, Riley throws out, "Our Art teacher was describing analogous color combinations. (Pause) Do you know what those are?" Pshhh, of course I do, doesn't everyone? They're...um...colors that are...similar...ish? In a patient, scholarly tone, he explained, "They're colors that lie within four spaces of each other on a Color Wheel." (Yeah, that's totally what I meant, I remember now...NOT...) Before I even had time to process the slightly-scary-yet-mildly-impressive Future Design Star, he went on to add, "That's how I want to decorate my new room in North Carolina. I'm gonna stick with greens, but I'll need to check the Color Wheel for ideas." Oh. Good Grief. This is going to be a hoot, I tell ya...

Then there's Derek, who pretty much seems to share my lack of right-brained skill. He at least doodles in stick figures and line drawings, but that's about as far as it goes for him. So imagine my astonishment when he casually said to me yesterday, "Oh, Mom, I switched my Elective class." Okay, let's start with: What the HECK? You can do that? All by yourself? As I remember it, I had to jump through flaming-guidance-counselor-hoops, with a parentally-signed permission slip clutched in my trembling hand, and an ironclad reason on the tip of my tongue, before I was allowed to do such a radical thing in Middle School. And you just...went ahead and did it...and you're telling me NOW? "Yeah, I didn't think you'd mind, since you'd want me to enjoy my class, and some friends told me the one I was in was boring." Well...alrighty then...what option did you choose instead? (Here it comes...) "Art." Ser-i-ous-ly? He shrugged, "I have friends in that class, so yeah." Oh...kay...um, have fun?

So it appears that I'm going to have interior decorating and some as-yet-unknown Middle School art creations to contemplate in the near future. To participate in my own way, I suppose I'll photograph the results...and chronicle the experience...and pray that no one wants to consult me for technical help on any of their projects!

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Topsy-Turvy Time

If you go in for stuff like "self-reflection" and "resolving to make positive changes" and "setting goals", January 1st is supposed to the Big Day. But for me personally, I don't know what all the New Year's hoopla is about. It's just another freezing day in the middle of Winter...and we're all practically comatose from 6 weeks of sugar cookies and peppermint cocktails and staying up past our bedtime...so surely we can't be expected to be in the best frame of mind to kick off any kind of meaningful life-improvement program. (Or is that just me?)

However, take Super-Groundhog-Bowl-Day, which seems like a much better choice for--if not exactly "major shakeups"--at least examining how the season's been going, so far. Hmmm...I think I can sum it up quite succinctly: Is. It. Freakin'. OVER. Yet? Whether or not the famous little rodent saw his shadow is irrelevant at this point--it's been Winter for....ever.... Normally, around here we get away with wearing a jacket--rather than a parka--into December. Not this year. The cold descended quickly and mercilessly, and then stuck around. (Dramatic? Sure. I blame it on 2 months of shivering...makes me cranky...) And then, would you believe, it had the audacity to snow! Early and often! I swear, between the holiday break and the cancelled days and the 2-hour delays, students have barely been to school since about Thanksgiving, it seems.

The boys think it's a bit hilarious, given that it's our last Winter in this region. (Of course, I am finding it considerably less amusing...) However, even they are becoming less enamored of the freeze factor and the white stuff. My outdoor-loving kids, who are most comfortable and content in shorts and t-shirts, are understandably ready to move on to the next big thing. (Um, that would be "Spring" in WestEnders speak...) In an ironic way, this weekend did...and didn't...help. I write this at the tail end of 2 days of 50-degree temperatures, during which we all spent copious amounts of time outside...without heavy coats...or gloves! We got just a little bit pleasantly spoiled, but the next round of frozen stuff is set to arrive...tomorrow, for crying out loud. Yeah, yeah, I understand that it's February, and it's supposed to be like this, blah blah blah. Doesn't stop me from wishing for an early thaw, though.

Oh well, if it gets TOO bad (meaning either the weather, or my tolerance for it), pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training in just a few short weeks. Perhaps some team in Florida or Arizona (I'm not picky, any of them will do--okay, except the Yankees...) needs a photographer/blogger to chronicle their experiences for the fans, as they prepare for Opening Day...heeeeeyyyy, pardon me while I go revamp my resume...and dig out my sandals and sunscreen, you know, just in case...