Tuesday, April 29, 2014

New...and Hopefully Improved?

Recently I've been spending quite a bit of time with an old friend...and it's making Husband a little...uncomfortable. It's not like this buddy and I are besties, or anything--in fact, we can go months without any contact at all. But then I'll get a notion that we need to catch up on things, so I'll reach out to connect. And when we do get together, it's such an enriching relationship that I can't see how I would ever give it up. Now, before you get all worried and start looking up marriage counselors for us, let me confess that I'm talking about my special pal Craig...slist. (Yeah, I crack myself up....sorry...) I mean, c'mon, what could be more satisfying than posting an ad for an item you no longer need (because, I don't know...maybe you're moving, or something...) and having an interested buyer show up at your door...wielding cash? Hel-looo, reciprocal reward, everybody wins, am I right?

So, lately I've targeted a couple of pieces of furniture that won't be making the trip to North Carolina with us. And, as sometimes happily occurs when you deal with Craig, they got snatched up almost immediately...as in, one evening Husband came home from work to find a chair and ottoman missing from our bedroom, and the cedar chest and dresser moved to different positions to fill in the spaces. Now, keep in mind that he NEVER EVER sat in that particular spot, thus has no sentimental or practical attachment to that seat whatsoever...yet when he marched upstairs to change out of his business attire, he let out an audible gasp (dramatically exaggerated, I might add) and cried plaintively down the stairs, "Deeeaaaaarrrr! I fear change!" Uhhh-huuuuh. How's that workin' out for ya, Mr. "Leaving My Office Job and Going Home-Based"? Or would you prefer that I called you Mr. "Picking Up My Life and Relocating Two States Away"? Yeah, I suggest you take a couple of deep breaths, and prepare to leap onto the exciting WestEnders bandwagon...aptly named...um...how about: "Embrace the New", huh?

And while we're on the subject of novel experiences...today, after several exasperating, frustrating, infuriating weeks of snafus, headaches, and negotiations, at long last we were given the go-ahead to complete the paperwork and finalize the sale of our current house. Although the process was nothing less than horrible, and the results were not as favorable as Husband and I had originally been led to believe they would be, It. Is. O-V-E-R. Putting that behind us...and celebrating a birthday (whose exact value shall remain undisclosed, as it represents a prime number, which I intensely dislike...don't ask me, it's a weird Math quirk that I have...just go with it...) started me pondering the enormity of just how many "firsts" we'll ALL undergo in the coming year. Let's see...Derek will start High School (shudder)...Riley will begin Middle School (yikes)...I will need to figure out my employment situation (fingers in ears: "la la la la, I'm not ready to work on that just yet")...and everyone will have to explore and learn about a new state, city, neighborhood, and home.

Um...wow...that's a lotta...stuff...to wrap my brain around. Hmm, maybe I can clear my head by arranging and packing some of our belongings. (I know, I know, "normal people don't organize things for fun"...but I'm okay with owning my...Type-A-ness...) Or...perhaps Craig is free for a little conversation and commerce...Shhh! Husband won't miss those ancient rollerblades, right? (Whistling innocently while meandering towards the storage room...)

Sunday, April 27, 2014

A Very Specialized Bucket List

Wanna hear something crazy? (That was rhetorical, because of course I'm gonna tell you anyway...but if you didn't want to know, you wouldn't be here, right? Now, where was I...) Oh, yeah: it was just about 13 months ago, on an unexpectedly, un...wanted....ly (sure, it's a word) snowy day during the boys' Spring Break from school, when I hatched the Grand Get-the-Heck-Out-of-Maryland Scheme. Originally, it was focused entirely on relocating to my dream destination--Northern California--which we explored on our Summer vacation, taking notes for a possible westward move. But then in the Fall, Husband discovered that his work situation was not conducive to a cross-country transfer, so the original agenda had to be scrapped.

However, we quickly regrouped, and a new plot began to form...one in which we still achieved our goals of 1) finding new pastures (so to speak) in which to roam and 2) escaping the harsh bonds of Mid-Atlantic Winters. Thus we began burning up the interstates between here and North Carolina--on an initial recon trip, and subsequent house-hunting ventures. Fast-forward to the present: our house has been sold, and we're going to settlement tomorrow. We also have a contract on a home in Chapel Hill, that hopefully will be finalized in early June. So, my point is (at last): from the germination of Plan A; to testing it, discarding it and initializing Plan B; to completing the necessary field-research and implementing the actual move...approximately 15 months will have passed, all told. (Can I just say, "Jeez Louise, no wonder my head is spinning!!")

As the days count down to the introduction of our Southern Story, Team WestEnders has begun to compile a Bucket List of sorts, one that involves "stuff we would like to do before vacating Maryland". Sometimes the items come to us randomly--like when we were driving one day and spotted a restaurant we like from the highway. Husband mused, "Hmm, should we go there one last time?" Why yessss, we should...for my birthday lunch, in fact! (We checked that one off today--and boy, was it yummy...) While we were on the subject, I asked each of the Male Posse what else they felt a burning need to accomplish in the remainder of our allotted Maryland time. Derek immediately mentioned a steakhouse we took him to when he was, like, 4, and that he apparently remembers so fondly that he simply MUST eat there again. Oh-kaaaay...Husband jumped in and offered to have a "carnivores' outing" for his own birthday lunch next month. (Which means...Bonus Alone Time for Mom....Win/Win!)

After that, I quickly clarified that I was looking for "non-food-related activities", lest we spend the next 60 days noshing our way out of the state. So, Husband wants to ramble through the National Zoo and bid farewell to all residents furry, feathery, and scaly. Derek wants to do the local ziplining course again. I'd like to ride my bike on the Capital Crescent Trail. We ALL agree that an Orioles game must be squeezed in somehow. And finally, Husband decided that one more excursion is in order to what he calls "the ancestral homeland" (Um, yeah, the rest of us just know it as "Pittsburgh", but whatever...) before that particular drive doubles in length. Furthermore, while in the Steel City, certain things will be prioritized, namely: spending time with his Pennsylvania relatives, cheering on the Pirates at PNC Park, taking a ride up the Incline, and...visiting the denizens of the Pittsburgh Zoo. (I know, right: again with the animals...)

Between these items on the Must-Do List, the plethora of social engagements sprinkled liberally across our calendar...and of course the requisite packing and whatnot...the only thing we might be achieving significantly LESS of...is sleep...so please remind me to put "Daily Naps" at the top of the Very Important Tasks page (in between ceremonial meals...and time spent with local nature and her creatures, of course...I'd better go get some rest, I'm worn out just thinking about all this...impending fun!)

Monday, April 21, 2014

A houseful of...information...

After yet another dee-lightful (picture that in boldface "sarcasm font") drive back to Maryland, followed by a restful night in my own bed, you'd think I'd be refreshed and ready to tackle the week. But I'm suffering from what can only be described as a "house-hunting hangover", and my head is spinning, and I'm having trouble putting coherent thoughts together. It won't stop me from trying, though...just be aware as I make a valiant effort to sum up the last 2 days, that I might make less sense...than usual...

So, Saturday morning we met Agent C for one more mission--to tour 3 houses we hadn't gotten to the previous day, and to revisit our favorite. As we wandered through the first two (which were across the street from each other, oddly enough), the crew was still in full-on Critique Mode. They commented on the features, they listed pros and cons, they compared and contrasted...whereas pretty much the moment I walked in the door, I knew these were not the droids--um "homes"--we were looking for. Finally, to get them to focus and cut to the chase, I asked them point-blank: "Do you like it better than 123?" (That's the nickname we gave Frontrunner House, based on its street number...isn't it adorable?) They immediately shook their heads "no". Great! Moving on!

I was picking up on a little bit of a weird vibe from Husband, though, as we finished up the new offerings and headed back to 123 to finalize our decision. It took a while, but he was finally able to verbalize his misgivings....in a nutshell, the house reminded him of the one he grew up in, back in the 70s. However, returning for another look reassured him that it was only the style and layout (Colonial, that is) that was triggering his memory. The way he explained it, he just needed a moment to reconcile himself to the fact that the house we fell in love with was so very...traditional! (But without the formica countertops, linoleum flooring, or--heaven forbid--"harvest meadow" appliances so prevalent in the Disco Decade....thank goodness!) The second viewing confirmed for all of us that this was, indeed, The One We Wanted. (Yaaaayyy!)

After that, of course, it was back to the office to draw up the necessary paperwork for an offer. (Not...yay...) Agent C led us through the process and promised to contact us the moment she heard anything from her counterpart on behalf of the sellers. Thus--exhausted yet exhilarated--we were free to go forward with our next activity: Derek's Belated Birthday Lunch. He had chosen Lime, since we'd all enjoyed it so much the first time we'd eaten there, in December. When ordering, I sneakily managed to work into conversation that we were celebrating someone's "special day". (It's a patented Mom Trick, what can I say?) So a few minutes later, at the salsa bar, the cashier sidled up to me and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, in very super-secret-spy fashion, "Does he like key lime pie?" I had to think about that for a minute, because I honestly can't remember him ever trying it, but I had to go with, "Um, I think so..." (I figured, it's dessert, what could go wrong? The boy has never yet turned down a sugar...product....) And sure enough, as we finished up our (delicious) meals, she snuck up on him with a beautiful slice of pie, complete with lit candle. If you're keeping score, that makes 2 visits to Lime...2 free desserts. That's the kind of math I can totally get behind, yeah? (Bonus: Derek was both surprised AND embarrassed, so it was a complete success as far as I'm concerned. Oh, and the pie? OMG-awesome!)

From there, it was back to Husband's cousin's house to relax and regroup....and wait. However, some of our brains were working in overdrive...for instance, Riley's...as he suddenly decided to quiz us on the particulars of the deal: "How much did we offer?" (in a thoughtful tone). Then, concerned, "Are you sure that's enough? Shouldn't we bid higher?" (Dude, you're 10--chill out and let the grownups worry about it!) But as it turned out, we didn't have to suffer through too much pins-and-needles anticipating, as Agent C called me a few hours later to announce that our offer had been accepted, with all of the provisions intact and no negotiation required. WHOO HOO! It was super-exciting news, of course...and almost too much to process, at that point.

At least for the rest of the weekend we could just enjoy some downtime...including takeout pizza for dinner, watching televised sports for the kids, dyeing eggs for Easter...not to mention the beloved custom of "chocolate overload" (Hey, if there was ever a year that we actually earned it, this would be the one...) And just how much has this whole crazy ride consumed all of us over the past few weeks? I found Derek and Riley sitting in front of an episode of House Hunters International...actually paying attention...and Riley said, "You know, before I never would have known what they were talking about with all the details of a house...but now, I notice everything and I understand what they mean!" Oh, good grief...

So it seemed like the hard part was behind us...except today I spent hours on the phone and computer with North Carolina (not the entire state...but it sure felt like it...) responding to "I need this document" and "What's the dollar amount on this?" and "What kind of mortgage do you want?" and "Can you get me a quote for homeowner's insurance?" and "How's this for inspection date/time?" and "Shall I recommend an attorney for you?" AY YI YI! To quote an old Far Side cartoon: '"May I be excused? My brain is full." Speaking of which, it may be time to go for a head-clearing, stress-reducing run...before dipping into the Easter chocolate...

Friday, April 18, 2014

Trying Not to Jinx It...

While last night may have been all about lighthearted fun and games, today we geared up for what we all secretly--or, well, really quite openly and vocally--hoped would be our final day of house hunting. We began the morning as one tired Team WestEnders...but although we may have been dragging our tails, we were also motivated-as-heck to plow through the available offerings. We figured that we had laid the "groundwork" on our last trip and solidified our own vision of what we were seeking in a residence. Therefore, we would be able to--as Husband so colorfully put it--"pull the plug quickly" and move on to the next property if we judged that something didn't meet our needs. And if I'm being completely honest, I have to tell you that before we came down this time, I had what I can only describe as a..."good feeling" about our impending efforts. I can't really describe it any better than that, but my gut--for lack of a more specific term--was telling me that success might await us on this Chapel Hill excursion.

So, off we went, armed with the ever-so-helpful printouts provided by Agent C. It quickly became apparent that the boys (bless their little pea pickin' hearts) must have become resigned to--and therefore subsequently adopted--the Official Real Estate Evaluation Lingo. What that means is, we heard such phrases as "This one doesn't speeeeaaak to me" and "I just can't see us living here" out of one or both of their mouths at some point during the proceedings. (Hey, at least they're accepting my feminine touchy-feely input with more grace than they did last time...) Anyway, we hit the ground running and visited...a veritable bonanza of houses. Seriously, Husband got in the habit of recording brief, pithy phrases on each fact sheet as we finished a tour, to remind us in as few words as possible of what we really thought of the place. Here's a verbatim sampling of his notes: "too rural" (it was seemingly out in the middle of nowhere); "too rustic" (it resembled a farmhouse); "too close to main road" (self explanatory); "lot not good, small and cramped" (ie teeny-tiny yard); "columns--eww" (pretentious living-room entrance); "neighborhood too small" (it felt very isolated).

And then, believe it or not, we got even more colorful as the day wore on. Here are some later comments: "aged...and not well!" (very dated interior)..."too much character" (odd layout)..."TOO MUCH" (about 2,000 square feet more space than we truly need...or particularly want to pay for...). Finally, it degenerated into this sort of low-blood-sugar goofiness: "Dad's not feeeeling it" and the ultimate brush-off "NO--dead deer heads in garage" (not kidding about this...but don't ask me for specifics, because I was glazed at this point and perfectly willing to take their word for it...)

However, in the midst of all this...nonsense...we came across a house that--miracle of miracles--we could ALL imagine making our home. It's in the neighborhood that we absolutely loved the last time we were down here--on a gorgeous, quiet, tree-lined street, in a neighborhood across the road from what would be Riley's middle school, with access to walking trails in a serene forest setting oh, about a hundred yards away. The house itself has all the rooms we would need, plus a deck and screened-in porch. It's in pristine condition, including new paint and an upgraded kitchen, so we wouldn't have to do anything to it...except move in, of course. At one point I turned to Derek and said--completely seriously--"I have a tingly feeling about this house". (Yeah, he's a boy...he stared at me for a second to make sure I wasn't pulling his leg...then just shook his head wryly...)

The upshot is: unless we see something tomorrow on our short list of "what's left" that astounds us and blows this one out of the proverbial water, we're making an offer. As we prepare for some much-needed head-clearing rest tonight, we will keep our collective fingers crossed that this is, in fact, the end of our house hunting journey. Stay tuned for what will hopefully be the post-game wrapup...

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Revisiting an old fave...

Sometime in the 90s, my sister and I road-tripped to Durham, North Carolina. We had several motives for this excursion, including the fact that she was (and still is, in fact) a rabid Duke fan...and also the inexorable pull of the baseball heavens, drawing us toward the iconic minor league stadium made famous in the classic movie Bull Durham. It was a long time ago, but I clearly remember that the little gem of a ballpark did not disappoint.

Flash forward: when we visited Chapel Hill on our inaugural relocation reconnaissance mission in December, we witnessed that very same building spiderwebbed with scaffolding over every inch of its surface. A mention of this to Husband's cousin garnered the news that it was being completely renovated before the 2014 season, as it will be the location of the Triple-A All-Star game in July. A few weeks ago when we were last in the area, baseball games had not yet begun--and it was stubbornly COLD, so we weren't even thinking about the Boys of Summer. But on our drive southward today, it suddenly occurred to me that we might actually be able to catch a game this weekend. Husband did a quick check on his phone, and discovered that the Bulls would indeed be hosting a contest...but only for tonight. However, in a sort of baseball-gods-are-watching-over-us way, it turns out that they would be taking on the Norfolk Tides...the Baltimore Orioles AAA affiliate. Did we have to go? HECK, yeah.

Thus we found ourselves meandering toward Durham on a cool-ish Spring evening, to enjoy America's pastime. The first fortuitous event of the night did not take long to transpire: $5 parking. (It's the little things, yeah?) That was before we even got close to the stadium itself--a gorgeous brick building that manages to overflow with an appealing combination of classy charm...and folksy cheesiness. (And yes, I do mean that in a totally complimentary way...) I mean, what's not to love about a stadium that honors a fictional person--I'm talking about catcher Crash Davis, of course--with a prominent plaque on the wall by the entrance? Or that sign perched over left field--you know the one I'm talking about, with the enormous painted bull--dangling the tantalizing incentive: "Hit Bull Win Steak". (In a hilarious modern addition, you can now see in the greenery below the bull's feet: "Hit Grass Win Salad". Oh, those whimsical minor league wits...)

While the place definitely exudes an old-fashioned ambiance, modern amenities abound as well. For example, let's start with the food (naturally). It happened to be dollar-hotdog-and-popcorn night (yaaaayyy, we can afford to feed Derek). But I noticed that "vegan burgers" and (believe it or not) "vegan dogs" also appeared on the menu. However, when the boys and I wandered around to the souvenir shop, we stumbled across a stand that offered the following (not making this up): elk jalapeno (I don't even know what that means...but it terrifies me...); wild boar with cranberries; and pheasant with spinach, mushrooms, and feta. What the WHAT? We gave that one a wiiiidddde berth, let me tell ya. It was all good, though, because there was also a nondescript little table set off to one side that was freely handing out...wine samples. Can I get a whoo hoo! Jeez, who knew the minor leagues were so darn cool?!

Anyway, before we froze our...patooties...off and headed home for the night, we were treated to one final bit of silliness. Like at most stadiums, the Bulls feature a race around the basepaths with oversized, costume-wearing characters. I've seen former presidents leg it out at Nationals Park, sausages sprint at the Brewers' field...but in Durham you have Annie Savoy, Nuke Laloush, and Crash Davis vying to cross the plate first. Absolutely ridiculous...and a total hoot. Yeah, I see us looking into at least a partial season ticket plan when we're down here for a full Summer o' Fun...and maybe I'll even try a vegan dog...especially if there's wine...

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

It's gotta be all that birthday cake...


On this, the 14th anniversary of Derek's birth, I pause for a moment to reflect...to look...up...at him and wonder: where the HECK did this giant kid come from? After all, this is the boy who started out his life weighing in at just under 6 pounds--having found it absolutely imperative to surprise us all by making his grand entrance into the world 3 weeks ahead of his due date. He arrived sporting a delightful...carrot-y color...which earned him extra-special attention from the pediatric nurses...who stopped by every few hours to poke him with a needle and test the bilirubin levels in his blood. If that wasn't enough excitement for a newborn and his clueless first-time mother, he also had trouble eating. (I know, right? Looking at the boy, you'd never guess...trust me when I say that even now, he's still doing his darndest to make up for it...every single meal, every single day...)

Even when he was discharged, after an additional day of monitoring at the hospital, he came home with a spiffy contraption--basically a blue-light-emitting blanket that he needed to be wrapped in almost around the clock--to encourage his liver to flush the unwanted toxins out of his fragile new system. And then, for quite some time into his toddlerhood, his pediatrician remained quite concerned about his weight gain, encouraging us to pump calories into his body in any way possible. (Which might explain why he still harbors such an extreme love of butter, as a matter of fact...)

Fortunately, he turned out just fine, and these days Husband and I greatly enjoy exercising one of our most basic and solemn Parental Rights...giving him a hard time about what a little pain he was for a while as a baby. So, when I was flipping through the photo albums for a good shot of Derek's early months, I came across the Penn State photo--in which Husband was entirely too tickled by the fact that he was able to cradle his son like a football. I wanted to show the contrast between Then and Now...but jumping into his poor father's arms with a gleeful "pick me up!" was all Derek's idea. (Yeah, I had to shoot that one FAST...)

But wait, we haven't even gotten to the punchline yet. (I know, I know, "bated breath", yeah?) These days Derek has become quite the... scale-watcher...himself. Unlike the rest of us, though, he wants to see the numbers going UP, indicating that he's still growing at an acceptable rate. (Whatever that is, in his teenaged brain). Recently he was ever-so-pleased that he'd reached 130 pounds. (And what do you even say to that? Yay, son...good...appetite? Here, have a cookie?Better yet: why don't you sit down before you get hungry again...yeah, that's the one...) The real kicker is: I skimmed the growth report in his baby book, and since his 10-year-checkup...he's precisely DOUBLED his mass. Holy guacamole (with chips)!

Ahem...so happy birthday, dear...now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go (back) to the grocery store....

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Growing (up) pains?

We have a running joke in our house, that when one of the kids does something...not bad, exactly...but, say "playfully obnoxious"...Husband or I will turn to our other son and address him as: the Preferred Child. Given the following snippets from the past week, I'll let YOU decide who gets the honors at the present time...

Leading off, we have Riley. You'll be happy to know that he did, indeed, survive the mortification of Family Life, seemingly intact. But remember that private Boys Only Conference that took place behind closed doors one night during the time the unit was being taught? Well, Husband leaked one tidbit of the discussion to me later. Apparently, Riley informed his father that he "wasn't going to find a girl and have sexual intercourse" (yes, that's exactly how he phrased it...my little scientific nerd...) until he was 20...because it "seems like a good time for that kind of thing". Oh. My. Goodness. And knowing Riley, he didn't just pluck the number out of the air, either. He most likely put some thought into what was involved, considered the pros and cons...ran some probable scenarios...and...what have you... However, there was more to the story. Husband explained the...um..."physiological process" for how our friends the egg and sperm get together. (And by the way, so much for the innocent era of "it's a magical, mystical thing that happens when Mommy and Daddy love each other very much...and poof! A baby happens!" Dang it...) Riley's response to this...biological enlightenment? "Huh. That sounds ridiculous." Absolutely, sweetie--it's the most absurd thing you've ever heard in your life, right? As a matter of fact, 20 is seeming waaaayyyy too early now, isn't it? Feel free to back that up to 25...or 30...

Then--on a completely unrelated topic, before anyone has a conniption--there's the teenager. One night I was busy (and by that I mean probably checking Facebook, or otherwise goofing around online) and not paying attention to the time. It was a school night, and Derek knows darn well the schedule of when to get ready for bed. So when the time came...and went...without him lifting a finger to begin his lengthy Pre-Turn-In Ritual (I swear, it's so complicated, with so many steps, you'd think he was a...girl...or something...) I failed to notice this transgression, at first. Then suddenly I realized it was too late for him to still be awake and lollygagging, so I charged into his room to light a fire under his lazy adolescent butt. "Why aren't you getting ready for bed?" I asked in a scolding tone. Leaning back in his chair, nonchalantly chewing gum, he gazed at me calmly and replied, "Well, you didn't tell me to..." At which point I sort of blew up...and snapped, "What are you, 5? You need me to remind you every night when to go to bed? If this was a test of maturity and responsibility, you failed!" (I know, right? Whoa, overreact much? All I can say in my defense is: I was tired...and probably should have been tucking myself in instead of delivering a lecture...)

Naturally, he took it well, and went about his nighttime business in his usual unruffled fashion. And I kissed him goodnight and forgot all about the incident...until a few days later, just before soccer practice. We were doing the normal rush-around-thing, grabbing cleats and shinguards and whatnot to take to the field. At the last minute, I realized I'd neglected to fill water bottles for each of them, to drink during breaks in the action. As I was retrieving my shoes, I relayed my oversight to Derek, who obediently began performing the task for me. But not without the following barb, slung in my direction in a tone positively dripping with sarcasm, "Geez, Mom, how could you forget the water bottles?" (A well-timed pause for effect....) "If this was a test of maturity, I guess you FAILED!" Sigggghhhgh. Darn smarta...mouth teenager. So I did the only thing possible in this situation (besides burst into laughter, of course) and threw out the standard non-serious parental threat that Husband and I employ at will: "That's it, you're grounded!" (Not that either of my children even know what that means--it's just another family gag...)

So there you have it: 2 boys, only one of whom can wear the Preferred Child crown for the week. I'll give you one guess as to who gets my vote...

Monday, April 7, 2014

Fifth Grade Follies

Here's an unusual topic that I've been hearing quite a bit about lately: the evils of...square dancing. That's right, harmless do-si-do-ing, lighthearted promenading, wholesome swing-your-partner-round-and-round-ing are all getting maligned by the resident 10-year old, who is reacting somewhat disagreeably to being forced to practice his...Little House on the Prairie-ish...skills. You see, it's time for him--like his brother did 3 years ago--to participate in his elementary school's great tradition called Westward Ho, in which the entire 5th grade class "migrates" (trudges, increasingly wearily as the day marches on) across the "plains" (approximately 6 miles of meadows, paths, roads and streams) with their "families" (assigned groups of 4 or 5 fellow students) to arrive in "California" (a local Nature Center reserved for the occasion). It's all tremendous amounts of F-U-N (she says with extra enthusiasm...secure in the knowledge that she fulfilled her educational and parental obligation by accompanying Derek on his pilgrimage. Therefore, you know what that means: it's Husband's turn to get muddy and soaked--um..."share the special bonding experience with his son"! Whoo hoo!)

Anyway, when they complete their trek, having dragged their wagons of provisions to their "new home", they get busy assembling their supplies, cooking a meal over a campfire, filling their bellies, and then for the Grand Finale--you guessed it--entertaining the crowd full of parents and siblings with a rousing demonstration of: Square Dancing. (Yee...haw?) To prepare for this torture--I mean "artistic display"--they have begun practicing at school during Music class. And how's that going? Well, Riley came home one afternoon and proclaimed, shaking his head mournfully, "Mom, square dancing is so...humiliating!" Why, whatever could you mean, honey? (She replied, feigning complete ignorance regarding the tender pre-adolescent sensitivities...) "Well, you have to dance with the girrrrlllls." Here he paused, as if to allow the horror of that statement to fully sink in. (While I nodded sympathetically with a neutral face...and giggled inside...) Then he continued, "And you have to...hold hands!" He delivered this in a tone of deep disbelief--as if he just couldn't fathom the indignity to which they'd subject poor, innocent children. (Still laughing...silently...)

But wait, it gets worse. (That is, for him, anyway...I was totally enjoying myself...) He added that he happened to get paired with...the little girl he likes. (Pardon me for a moment: OH MY GOSH THAT'S SO CUTE!!--she screamed to herself...) "When we were supposed to hold hands, we sort of looked at each other and and went 'uh-uh'...so we just pretended...it was soooo awkward!" Oh, the tricky whirlpool of a social dilemma....filled with perils like girl cooties, booby traps like clumsy classmates' feet to trip over, and hidden catastrophes like....moms with video cameras. Because the more he went on describing the scene--with one of his best friends actually falling over during a rehearsal...and related hijinks--the more determined I became to record this for posterity. It sounds like it's going to be absolutely precious...a priceless rite of passage...and quite a spectacle all at the same time. And really, at the end of the day, none of the intrepid pioneers ever perished from...square dancing...to celebrate their successful journey-to-the-west. (Or from their mother posting evidence of same on Facebook...mwah hah hah!)

Friday, April 4, 2014

Parental Permission Required Before Reading : )

A few days ago, Riley came home from school wearing a solemn, worried expression. By way of greeting, he said, "Mom, can I talk to you about something?" (Alarm bells immediately blared in my parental brain: Warning, this is NEVER a good start to a conversation...) So I braced myself mentally, and encouraged him to continue. With downcast eyes, he shook his head and sighed, "I reeeaaaally don't think I'm ready for Family Life." (Ohhh-kaaaay, now the inside of my head is filled with hysterical laughter...which I suppressed...with monumental difficulty...) "Ohhhh," I managed to casually respond, "did you start that today?" He nodded quietly, then burst out with, "And we talked about...puberty! On the first day!" He seemed so utterly indignant at being subjected to the...horrors...of the human body that I tried my utmost to at least make sympathetic sounds until I could regain my composure enough to reason with him. "Well, honey, it's important to know this stuff. It would be scary if things just started happening to you, and you had no idea what was going on, right?" He still looked somewhat dubious, but agreed. "It just makes me so uncomfortable!" he complained. ("Yeah, I totally get that, but suck it up, little man, 'cuz they're only doling out the 'light stuff' this year. You just wait until Middle School"...I thought to myself...)

So by quizzing him a little bit, I gathered that they're discussing 'body changes' and the all-important related topic of 'hygiene' at this point. Later that evening, I did ask if they're going to delve into the whole...ahem...'how babies...happen' situation...unfortunately, this happened to be at dinner time, when Husband was around, and he promptly helped oh-so-much by interrupting with, "Shh! We don't talk about 'the stork' until sixth grade, remember?" (Sigh...) Riley wore a puzzled expression as he answered, "Well, I know about the sperm...and the egg...but I'm not sure how they come together to make a baby..." (Excuse me while I pause for internal chuckles again...) To my surprise, Husband jumped in and matter-of-factly said, "Let's save that for after dinner--I'll tell you all about it when Mom goes to her dance class." Alrighty then...Off. The. Hook! (Yesssss...)

Relieved of the burden of Human Physiology Education, I lightheartedly pirouetted off to have fun with my fellow Jazz ladies, and put the whole subject completely out of my mind. When I returned home, however, I heard the rumble of multiple male voices coming from Derek's room, accompanied by...a great deal of...suspicious snickering. Apparently responding to the sound of me coming in the door, Riley darted to the top of the stairs and commanded, "Don't come up here, Boy Talk going on!" Then he firmly closed the door to prevent me from intruding. Huh. Evidently this is much more serious and involved than I originally suspected. But one thing was for sure: I absolutely DID NOT want to know exactly what they were covering in there, so I left them to it. (Silly me, I thought this meant I would be spared...alas, this was not to be...)

It was a bit amusing to me, though, that Riley appeared to be curious and inquisitive about the...processes...and whatnot. When Derek went through the same thing in 5th grade, and then again in more depth in each of the last several years of "Health Class" in Middle School, he has tended to keep the whole thing 100% to himself. "Honey, do you have any questions?" I have inquired on many occasions. "Anything you're unclear about, or that seems confusing, or that doesn't make sense?" From the very beginning, he has refused to even entertain the possibility of talking about it. (Which is fine--I just want him to know I'm available...and more reliable than any information he might get from his goofball friends...)

Sooooooo, my younger son came bouncing out of the room with a case of uncontrollable giggles, followed by his father, who rhetorically asked the world at large (with a rueful expression and one hand on his forehead in dismay), "Did you know there's a 'sperm meets egg' theme song?" Riley--of course--proceeded to demonstrate, using a pair of corded earbuds and a decorative pebble that Derek keeps on his desk...humming a merry tune as he slowly made them approach each other...Oh. Good. Heavens... (Just one more example of how my sons are such very, VERY different creatures: This sort of spectacle would never in a million years occur to Derek...and I truly believe he would perish from embarrassment before trying such a thing...)

But wait, just when you thought it was (mercifully) over, there's an epilogue. Riley informed me the next morning that Derek had also found some sort of--I don't exactly know..."conception game"?--that would allow you to (I am not making this up) "customize your sperm" so that it could "reach the egg faster". (Yes, apparently there IS an app for that...) I'm sorry, put this in the category of "I don't wanna know"...and let's fervently hope that Family Life concludes without any further...nonsense. But stay tuned, because for all I know, Riley could be working on Boy Meets Girl: The Musical...and I'm going to be quite busy practicing the many, many different ways I can use the phrase "Go ask your father"...