Working It Out...Ish...

When I was growing up, the topic of money was kind of taboo in our house. Maybe it’s a generational thing, but it just wasn’t something that was discussed between parents and kids. (Except of course in the context of “No, you certainly may NOT have “xyz-silly-fad-toy.” or “Are you kidding me? That’s an outrageous amount to spend for ‘fill-in-the-blank-fashion-trend’, so forget it!”) Nowadays, Husband and I tend to operate under a much more open policy when it comes to the family’s finances. Well, not to the point of “Daddy makes so-and-so per year”--but we have conversations about stuff like how much things cost, saving up for items that may be ‘wants’ rather than ‘needs’, trying to manage a monthly budget in a mindful way, and so forth.

While I believe that this system of frank “money talk” has generally been positive and instructional, it has recently led to some rather...unexpected consequences. As I’ve previously mentioned, I haven’t yet returned to the Working World since we relocated. Riley was the first one to voice misgivings about this situation, when he asked one day in a very worried tone, “Are we going to have enough money to EAT?” (How utterly shocking that this would be his uppermost area of concern! Yeah, not so much…) Husband and I reassured him that all was well, and that we would continue to feed him and his brother, which seemed to put his fears to rest.

But this apparently triggered Derek’s brain to start spinning along the same lines, and he asked me the other night, “How are we going to go on vacation if you’re unemployed?” (Uh-oh, here we go again…) I reminded him that almost everything costs less down here, which means that Dad and I are striving to save the extra money and put it aside so we can still take a trip next Summer. “Besides,” I added, “I’m still looking for a job, and hopefully I’ll find something soon.” He appeared surprised by this information and blurted, “Oh! I thought you’d given up!” (Nooooo, dear—just because you go off to school and don’t witness the actual search process, doesn’t mean it’s not happening…)

Then his face took on a thoughtful expression and he asked, “Well, what do you WANT to do? What’s your…dream job?” Hmph. Color me…stumped. “Here’s the thing,” I began, after probably 30 seconds of struggling to come up with an answer, “I don’t necessarily need a new career right now. I suppose I’m really aiming to discover something that I’m qualified for…that I can do for around 20-25 hours a week…and that I don’t hate.” He laughed pretty loudly at that, “Jeez, Mom, that sounds greeeaaaat!” (Ah....adolescent sarcasm...) And yet…it’s true. For instance, I know darn well I wouldn’t be able to stand working in a store or a restaurant. Or anything with “sales” or “marketing” in the title, for that matter. I’m not techie-enough for IT. And I don’t want to drive around and deliver…stuff.

So I told him I had applied to an administrative position at a nearby university, doing what sounded a lot like event-planning. “You know,” I explained, “I’d be responsible for keeping the calendar, reserving rooms for meetings, organizing the catering for each activity—that kind of thing.” Again, he snorted, but this time I wasn’t quite sure what was so amusing. He responded to my quizzical expression with, “I can just see it—you’d be on the phone like ‘No, numnutz, I want the coffee taken to Conference Room 114 right this minute, and the sandwiches at noon!’ Wow, that’d be FUN to watch, because it drives you crazy when people don’t do what you want them to do!”  

“Hey!” I started to mount a protest at this unfair…disparagement of my character…and…and…untrue assessment of my highly-developed skills of patience and diplomacy! (Yeah! That’s totally it!) Um…but then I realized..he has a point. In fact—barring the idea that I would EVER call someone a ‘numnutz’--he absolutely nailed my probable reaction when dealing with…incompetence…or uncooperativeness. (And can I say: that’s just downright scary. Good grief, you’d think he’s been watching me for 14 years, or something…oh, wait a minute….never mind…) 

Fortunately, when I indignantly related this little chat to Husband, he pointed out, "Eh, remember that he's looking at it from his teenage-boy perspective--which is mostly based on observing the frustration of trying to negotiate those stupid "automated phone systems" to arrange contractors or resolve issues with services." Oh...right! Maybe in retrospect I should have dragged him to one of those "Take Your Child to Work" days, so he could witness me playing nicely with other adults on a daily basis!

Anyway, maybe I could still successfully fulfill the job requirements…as long as everyone listened to me...and followed directions? Sigh…or perhaps it’s back to the old Drawing Board. (Not that I’m claiming to possess any artistic talent, either—but you know what I mean…) And since he’s soooo insightful into what I’m apparently NOT cut out for, perhaps my teenager can be enlisted as my new Career Counselor…yeah, I’ll let you know how that goes…

Workinng...On it (Part 1)

So, I'm a little rusty on my good old Dante, but does anyone recall which Circle of Hell is reserved for tedious, tiresome, soul-sucking, demoralizing tasks? You know, stuff like "mucking out the stables" (not that I would know, personally, but it seems like it belongs in that category)..."creating the Taj Majal out of toothpicks for a class project"...or, well, my own version of Hades right now: Job Hunting. 

This has become the routine: every Monday morning I sit down with my coffee and my laptop, and troll the websites for all of the universities in the area. Then I hit up the various job boards. And believe me, you can find a TON of options out there...if you'd enjoy something in retail (thanks, no), sales (um, not even a little bit), or food-related industries (as in "cook/hostess/waitress/cashier"...and let's just say "not a snowball's chance in, well, you get the picture...") Then there are the many, many listings for medical professionals--lemme tell ya, if I were a nurse or an occupational or physical therapist, I could pick and choose among dozens of opportunities. (Sigh...) 

In addition, this being an area saturated with science and technology in both the education and business sectors, there are always openings for Research Associates--for which I'm not qualified in the slightest, but which I find fascinating to read, nonetheless. One example that caught my eye (and continues to crack me up) comes from NC State University, advertising for a Technician to do the following: "assist the sweetpotato breeding and genetics program. The employee will assist with the management of our greenhouse-based breeding activities. Occasional support of our field- and laboratory-based breeding activities will also be expected. Primary duties will include: the propagation and maintenance of plant material in the greenhouse; the establishment, trellising, pollination, and harvest of seed from sweetpotato plants grown for breeding and crossing purposes; entry of data into the computer for record keeping and data analysis; and routine interaction with greenhouse, field, and laboratory personnel to ensure that all plant materials are watered, fertilized, and pest control measures are applied as needed. Additional laboratory-based activities will include assisting an existing Research Technician with pathology disease screen work. Field activities will include assisting with sweetpotato planting and harvest, and harvesting seed from breeding nurseries located off-campus." That's right, we're talking...Yam Assistance...y'all! LOVE. IT!

There are always a few that I run across that cause me to shudder and think, "No freakin' way, not in a million years, they couldn't possibly pay me enough to do that...nonsense." For example (NOT making this up): "lice removal specialist". What the WHAT? I just...have nothing else to say about this topic (except...I'm itchy...). Which is why you can imagine my boundless delight when I stumbled onto a listing for...a Full Time...Cheese Consultant. (That's right, a....Dairy Queen, if you will--of course you can understand why I was intrigued...amused...whatever...) Clearly, this was waaaay too good not to share with Husband, so I interrupted his actual workday to relay my virtual discovery. Surprisingly (not) he greeted my enthusiastic presentation with...a mixture of skepticism and bemusement. 

Here's how the conversation went: 
H: "What exactly IS that?"
Me: (airily) "Well, you assist customers at Harris Teeter with their...cheese...related...issues." 
H: "Really? What would those be?"
Me: "Well, such matters as 'what's the best wine pairing for this' or 'how much would you recommend I buy for my party' or 'what the heck does that kind taste like?'"
H: (still gamely playing along) "And how are you qualified for this?"
Me: (in a tone of strongly-implied DUH) "Um...I like cheese!" When he continued to gaze at me doubtfully, I asserted, "I like cheese A LOT. I eat it every day...sometimes more than once!"
To me, this seemed so glaringly obvious as to be self-explanatory, but Husband by this point had (wisely) decided to give up and, dropping his head into his hands, conceded defeat in the face of my...overwhelming logic.

Yeah...I don't reeeaaaally aspire to the lofty ambition of becoming a Cheese Consultant. But I was possibly becoming a wee bit loopy from the chore of reading, processing, and evaluating such an enormous amount of information--even if most of it was useless to me in the end. I do continue to hold onto the belief that "something will turn up"...and it will absolutely NOT involve processed milk products...or minuscule parasites! Fingers crossed, anyway...

High School...Hijinks?

A few weeks ago, the Male Posse attended a hotly-contested Battle of North Carolina...of sorts. It was a soccer match between our own Chapel Hill Tigers and the enemy...I mean "East Chapel Hill Wildcats". (And you observant readers who picked up on the...feline theme...would be correct. There is one more high school in the immediate area, whose mascot happens to be the Jaguars. No idea why, as none of these big cats is indigenous to the region...) 

Anyway, when they returned home, the guys were still laughing about--and animatedly discussing--the...ahem..."behavior" during the game. Husband--who for some reason decided to sit on the bleachers designated for fans of East--described a copious amount of heckling of the referees...by the PARENT spectators. On the field, the much-maligned referee issued an unusually high number of yellow cards (and even one red, banishing a player to the bench for the remainder of the time) for...conduct unbecoming a competitor...or some such foul play. Seriously, I can only assume these were instances of such offenses as: blatant pushing, obvious jersey-tugging, overly-enthusiastic slide tackling...possibly even "expressing disagreement" about a call...in an obnoxious rather than diplomatic manner... And each time he pulled out his little colored square to record a violation, the players apparently swarmed him, complaining about the call, pleading their case, arguing for a reversal, etc. Meanwhile, the coaches reportedly worked themselves into a frenzy on the sidelines, protesting loudly and vociferously about the officiating as well. Sheesh. In a nutshell, it was not what you'd call an especially sportsmanlike display--from the stands OR on the pitch. Oh, and at the end of all the hoopla, Chapel Hill prevailed, 3-2.

Aaannnnd, being a relatively small school system, you knew it had to happen: the REMATCH. How highly-anticipated was this second go-around? Husband actually planned the return from his business trip to ensure he would be able to make the game. Then we got an email from the principal at Derek's school (which would be hosting the contest this time). Here's the part of the message that caused my jaw to drop: "Please be advised that ALL students planning to attend the match will be breathalyzed for alcohol as they enter the stadium. This will include students from both schools.  Any student with any indication of alcohol in their system will be in violation of the CHCCS substance policy and the consequences will be appropriately assigned and a parent or guardian will need to pick up their child from the event. We are looking forward to an incident free and victorious evening.  Go Tigers! #BEAT EAST" (In case you're wondering, yes you CAN get a tee shirt printed with that slogan...)

Whoa...that's just...a little bit freaky! So naturally, this spawned a conversation with the 11-year old, who understandably wanted an explanation of what exactly it means to be "breathalyzed". (I suspect he was envisioning some kind of...vaccine situation...with a needle figuring prominently into his fears.) When I told him what would actually happen, he wrinkled his nose and said in a worried voice, "But...I don't want to breathe on the police!" After I assured him the chocolate milk and juice boxes he consumes daily would not cause him to come under suspicion, he seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, remained slightly horrified by the fact that the administration felt it necessary to instigate such a policy. If this is a Sign of the Times, it's a very sad one.

However, in the Post-Match Wrap-Up, our intrepid Man on the Scene--also known as "Derek"--stated that no alcohol testing had in fact occurred. I suppose it's a good thing that the mere threat of being exposed in a state of public inebriation turned out to be enough to stifle such inappropriate adolescent impulses. In a perhaps related note, Derek added that the mood in the stadium seemed decidedly more...subdued...and socially acceptable...than in the previous meeting of the two squads. This might have been somewhat attributable to the presence of armed, uniformed law enforcement officers on the sidelines...or maybe everyone just chose to be on their best behavior. Whatever the reason, the evening went smoothly, with East squeaking out a 4-3 win this time.

Sooooo...I guess this could be considered part of the acclimation process for high school...for all of us? My goodness, in that case, it could be a loooong 7 years (until Riley graduates)....quick, somebody get me a...Diet Pepsi!

High School Helpfulness

Husband was out-of-town this past week, his presence having been required back in Maryland for some work-related meetings. His business traveling (even though fairly infrequent) used to be a difficult situation for Team WestEnders, when the boys were much younger and demanded constant attention and/or care. But nowadays, temporary single-parenting isn't so much of a big deal. Honestly, the most challenging aspect--at least in the Fall--is figuring out how to somehow transport 2 kids to 2 separate fields for 2 teams' soccer practices...on the same day...at overlapping times. (If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times: "Oh, if I could only apparate...")

The imperfect solution has been that we get Derek to his practice on time (this is important, since as the Coach's son, he brings the bag of soccer balls and pinnies for scrimmaging), then Riley and I hang out while he runs amok with his teammates for an hour. When he's finished...and we've prodded him to organize his stuff and get moving...we hightail it over to Riley's field. This results in Riley showing up late, but we justify it by the fact that his session is longer, so he technically still gets about 60 minutes with his soccer compatriots. Then, Derek typically sits in the car doing homework with his headphones on, and I go for a run or walk, while Riley frolics on the field.

However, this week we actually got a break: heavy rain caused swampy conditions, so Tuesday's schedule was washed out. Then on Thursday, the complex where Derek's practices are held was still closed, apparently remaining too soggy to play. Therefore we only had to negotiate Riley's travel arrangements. There really wasn't any reason for Derek to tag along, so when he asked if he could skip it and stay home, I agreed...with one Very Important Condition. (Mwah hah hah!) During the "normal routine", Husband takes care of the evening meal on soccer nights, since he and Derek are done and home by 6:30, while Riley and I don't generally arrive until 7:30 or so. So the cost of Derek's freedom to stay at the house would be...cooking grilled cheese sandwiches for him and his brother to eat for dinner.

When I informed him of this, he looked momentarily flummoxed. "But..but...I don't remember HOW!" he protested feebly. "Oh, not to worry, I'll give you a quick refresher before we go," I assured him. He still seemed somewhat unconvinced, but appeared to resignedly accept his fate. As Riley and I prepared to leave, I tutored Derek on the fine points of grilled cheese creation. It turned out that he actually did recall the basic elements--you know, butter on the OUTSIDE, 2 slices of cheese, etc. But he had a few technical questions, like "what number do I set the burner to" (okay, that's valid) and "do I have to butter both slices of bread right away, or does it matter if I get the first one in the pan with the cheese to start cooking, and then do the second?" (um...now you might be overthinking it just a bit, dude...)

While I believe he had some lingering trepidation, he passed his first culinary test. He didn't burn down the house (or even set off the smoke detectors, so Bonus Points for that). He sustained no injuries. Furthermore, his efforts produced 2 nicely-browned, sufficiently-melty toasted cheese sandwiches that met with complete satisfaction from his customer--um, "brother". Heck, he didn't even really make any mess! So yeah, little does he know it now, but based on his initial success, the expectations are only going to go higher. Hmmm, what can I teach him next? I'm sure he can handle pasta, yeah? That's it, from now on, Saturday night dinner's on Derek!

Crunchy granola...healthcare?

Anyone who knows me is aware that, although I'm generally very healthy, (pausing to knock wood) when I do find myself in need of medical attention, I tend to seek out the most natural, holistic options available for treatment. Now, don't get me wrong--if it's a sinus infection, I run to my primary care doctor, accept the antibiotics gratefully, and wait for the healing magic of pharmaceuticals to kick in and vanquish the bad bugs back to where they belong (which I can only hope is some form of...Bacteria Hell). But at various points in my life I've also used the services of a other...non-mainstream...professionals, such as an acupuncturist/herbal medicine expert, a massage therapist, and a chiropractor.

In fact, with all the baggage (literal and metaphorical) associated with relocating and getting settled, it had been almost 5 months since I'd visited my chiropractor in Maryland. For about 3 months, I was honestly feeling pretty peachy-keen...but then the neck began...popping unpleasantly from time to time. And the shoulders (not just the repaired-rotator-cuff one, either) started to get stiff and tight. Finally, when I continued to ignore the increasingly blatant signs from my body that something was amiss, everything just decided to get all achy and...just downright...cranky. Okay, okay, I GET it...making an appointment with a new guy...jeesh, get off my back! (Hahahaha! Sorry...)

New guy--or "Dr. F"--did all the routine stuff first: read over my intake forms, asked a bunch of questions about my current symptoms, as well as overall health and habits, and performed a cursory visual examination. Then we got to the good stuff. He had me lie down on the table so he could attach what appeared to be electrodes to my right hand and foot (all the while continuing his stream of friendly chatter). Before he proceeded to do anything...shocking...he commented on my "very high arches". Um....yeah? "That's an indication of an extremely fast metabolism," he added. "Mmm hmm," I agreed ...wait...what? That doesn't sound right--if that's true, then why do I have to be so careful about every dang thing I eat these days? He clarified, "Not digestively....but rather in a 'fight or flight' way. Your body runs at an elevated level of stimulation pretty much all the time." Oh...uh-huh, that absolutely describes me. Carry on...

In his hand, he held some sort of meter, on which he read the electromagnetic impulses emitted by my body. (I chose to take his word for it, as I felt nothing at all from the electrode sites....thank goodness!) Evidently this confirmed for him what he'd said about my metabolism, although he looked thoughtful as he admitted, "For your body type, I would expect the numbers to be higher. With that, and the way your right scapula tends to jut out, we might suspect some liver congestion." (So, what, my liver is...stuffed up? What am I supposed to do, throw Sudafed at it? What the HECK?) After this pronouncement, he took out what appeared to be a beefed-up handheld massager and applied it to the area of my torso where my liver purportedly resides, I can only assume to encourage the flushing of toxins (yes, without even a small break in the ongoing conversation). It was...weird. But not painful, or even uncomfortable, just...different.

Next we discussed certain dietary issues, such as the fact that I tested very low for iron a couple of years ago, and since then have been continuously taking supplement capsules, to maintain appropriate levels. He nodded knowingly and replied, "With the metabolism you have comes an increased tendency towards diabetes (yep, there was THAT little scare a while back, also--I swear, it's like he knows me already...) and anemia...although it's quite possible you have TOO MUCH iron in your body." I'm sorry...huh? He explained that supposedly my body type takes the iron it receives and stores it away in the tissues, effectively making it unusable for physical functioning (like fending off exhaustion, for example). It can then become a whole other problem to have so much of the mineral stockpiled in your organs and...whatnot. He went on to say that he often finds patients like me are deficient in magnesium, instead, and that when they begin taking it, their digestion and energy improve almost immediately. (Right...Memo to Self: FE out, MG in...)

And while we're on the subject of the periodic table of elements, he had one more little zinger to impart. He inquired--quite delicately--if my hair had always been...this color. When I told him it hadn't, he wanted to know exactly when it had started to change. Specifically, he wondered if there had been stress in my life at the time...like having kids, maybe? Ding ding ding! I never really thought about it before, but that pretty much nails the time period when it occurred. He then informed me that the aforementioned stress (and by the way: thanks, beloved children) combined with a...copper imbalance (of all things) can lead to losing the pigment in one's tresses. We didn't really discuss what to DO about this--I'm assuming it's too late to start chugging good old CU and thus transform myself back to an auburn chick--but what I took away from the discussion is: I'm totally blaming the boys for causing me to go prematurely silver. (Yep, that seems fair...)

I think it's pretty obvious that I'm fascinated by--and also wholeheartedly buy into--this whole "alternative medicine" thing. I just can't help but think that it's wise to take the whole body (and brain!) into account when trying to: 1) figure out why something's hurting or not functioning properly, and 2) prescribe solutions to help return to a state wherein all parts work smoothly and efficiently. I'll be meeting next week with Dr. F to go over his findings in more detail. But in the interim, he provided several concrete suggestions to begin addressing my areas of concern.

After he adjusted my back and neck, (aaahhhhhhh!) he handed me a lacrosse ball, to use against a wall as a kind of rolling self-massage for tight or tender areas in my mid-back and shoulder blade regions. He also gave me a magnesium supplement for a trial run. Last but not least, he recommended that I give "sunflower spread" a taste, as a replacement for traditional peanut butter. The reasoning here is that peanuts naturally carry a certain kind of mold, which in itself is obviously harmless, but which might not agree with my particular internal system, from what he can tell. (Suuuurrre...as long as I can still spread it on a banana, it's all good....) So in summary, what some may label "quackery", I cross my fingers and hope to call "sweet relief"...and my happier neck, shoulders, and back would have to agree!

Where's Bill Nye when you need him?

Imagine it’s around 9:30 on a Sunday night…the weekend is winding down…everyone should either be in bed already (Riley), or relaxing (the rest of us…theoretically, at least…) The two days of respite had whizzed by, due to an abundance of activities. There were 3 soccer games (that’s right, for 2 boys--I know the math doesn’t add up, but I don’t make the schedule…) a trip to a State Park for a family hike, and playoff baseball to watch (yes, it IS important--we need to lend our support to the Orioles…even if it amounts to "cheering from afar"…) All of this resulted in the hour growing kind of late, and Derek still needing to tie up the loose ends of his homework.

Thus came the plaintive call from the teenager’s room, a pathetic cry for help in the form of: “Mooooommm? How are you at…arts and crafts?” Just what a parent looooves to hear when she’d rather be curling up with a book…or watching an episode of Halloween Wars on the Food Network…or absolutely anything else besides...coloring and gluing. And actually, the honest answer is: “Arts and crafts are not at ALL my thing”. But this is my child, and I want to lend a hand whenever possible...so I heaved a mental sigh and asked what he needed.

Turned out, it was a project for Biology class, in which he was to follow a set of instructions to build a model of an HIV virus. First he had to fold a flat piece of paper into an (get ready for an awesome sciency-type word) icosahedron. Cool, right? And no, I don’t know exactly what it means. But I can tell you that when you attach all the tiny little tabs to the right places, it becomes a many-sided structural shape. I could understand Derek’s frustration, watching him trying to wrestle the flimsy paper into submission; it was not what you’d call “easy”. But what he really wanted to consult with me about was what to utilize for the “enzymes” which had to poke through the surface of the cell (did I mention it was super-fragile PAPER?) and then be covered by the outer layer or “envelope”.

Let me just sum up by saying it required many trips between the kitchen and his bedroom, as we brainstormed different options for materials, located said items, discarded those that proved unsatisfactory, etc. Yeah, we were definitely testing that good old "scientific method", I tell ya. We finally decided upon some nails (caaaaarrrefully, gently coaxed through the surface of the paper…then superglued into place so those suckers would stay put…) and plastic cut from a newspaper delivery bag, (wrapped around and taped to hold it in place).

Let me also be clear: I’m not the parent who’s going to jump in and complete their kid’s assignment when they’re struggling, to ensure that they get a decent grade. Nope, I assure you that HE did all the work--as I sat comfortably on the bed and…supervised in an encouraging manner…when I wasn’t trotting up and down stairs, of course. In fact, I believe it was on one of my very last journeys to the Land of Creativity (aka: the pantry) for one final finishing touch, when Derek at last seemed to notice my weariness. (Was it my plodding pace? Heavy footfalls? Or the creaking of my tired legs? Yep, probably “all of the above”…) Sounding a wee bit guilty, he piped up, “Sorry about this. Thanks for all your help!” I did wholeheartedly appreciate his unsolicited expression of gratitude. Keep this in mind as I replied--and you have to trust me, here, when I tell you I did not plan this at all, it just came right out of my exhausted noggin--“Oh, that’s okay, honey…you know, Biology is…my LIFE!” (I know, right? Ouch...) 

So what have we learned here? Besides the fact that last-minute projects are a b...ear? Or that constructing representations of organisms is quite tricky? Evidently, even my worn-out brain…is a nerd!

Just a Little Nerd Humor

Sunday promised to deliver another stunning Fall day, with abundant sunshine and temperatures in the pleasant and comfortable 60s. As it so often does, the Great Outdoors was beckoning Team WestEnders, coaxing them to lace up their hiking shoes and go tromp through the woods somewhere. So, obediently heeding the Call of the Wild, (or, you know, as untamed as it gets in the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill Triangle…) we headed for a State Park to renew our bond with Mother Nature…and whatnot.

Now, I’ve noticed that our little walks tend to follow a couple of patterns these days. In one scenario, the brothers lead the way, strolling side by side together out in front while chatting about…secret boy stuff, apparently. That leaves Husband in the middle, and me purposefully lagging several yards behind, savoring as much stillness and quiet as I can absorb from the surrounding forest. But periodically, we all clump together for a while and discuss whatever happens to spring to mind.

For example, in yesterday’s excursion, topics included the MLB Playoffs (instigated by Derek), an article in the newspaper that I’d read regarding college admissions, a televised special produced by the Smithsonian Museum, about a group of archeologists who recently uncovered and reconstructed some enormous reptile skeletons from a snake they estimated to be 48 feet long (offered by Husband the Science Geek)...and whatever babbling stream of consciousness happened to be flowing from Riley’s mouth during any miniscule pauses in the conversation. (Leading us to the third type of regular occurrence during family outings: the inevitable “Riley, please for the love of all things peaceful, Just. Stop. Talking… for a few minutes, at least…”)

Occasionally, when we’re all feeling perky and social enough at the same time, we indulge the boys by joining them in a silly “Name Game”.  It’s very simple—one person starts by throwing out the name of someone, alive or deceased, from any point in history up to the present…but it must be a real human being. (This will become critically important to the story in just a moment, trust me…) The next player comes up with another person whose first name begins with the last initial of the previous one. Confused? It’s like this: Albert Einstein could lead to Elvis Presley who could then cause one to say Patrick Dempsey…etc. Believe it or not, it can be harder than you’d think sometimes to come up with a name tied to a specific letter. (Especially with the aforementioned constant chatter in the background, making it harder to focus…or maybe that’s just me…) So when someone is taking a long time and seems to be struggling for inspiration, we tend to provide ideas to try to speed them along.

However, some of these tidbits are, shall we say, “not so helpful”. Like when Derek was having trouble coming up with an “H”, and Husband enthusiastically yelled “Harry Potter”! I immediately over-ruled the suggestion by barking out, “NOT REAL!” This instantly became sort of the running joke throughout the rest of the contest, as we had to try harder to come up with famous people we hadn’t yet mentioned, and the “brainstorms” became increasingly ridiculous. At one point Husband was looking for yet another “S” and Riley interjected, “Simpson…Bart”. Treating my self-appointed referee role with utter seriousness, I squashed that by calling 2 fouls at once: “Um…Backwards…and NOT REAL!”

But the game really shuddered to a screeching halt a few minutes later when Derek was once again wracking his Teenage Boy Brain for an “O”. After pondering for a while, he apparently gave up, and with a huge cheesy grin, just called out a word that at least used the right letter: “Osmosis!” I didn’t even know where to start when assessing the…wrongness…of his response, so I sputtered for a few seconds before holding up my imaginary flag and indignantly stating, “Just…NOT…A PERSON!” However…Husband, ambling a few steps behind at the back of the line, had the last word. Chortling over Derek’s…creative cheating…and my mild outrage, he quipped, “Maybe you’d better explain it again…I don’t think it’s…SINKING IN!”

Oh. My. Goodness. Husband just about stumbled off the path, he was laughing so hard in gleeful amusement at his own…utter dorkishness. I think Derek was equal parts appreciative of the clever play on words…and horrified that THIS is the kind of stuff that cracks us up. Riley was nonplussed, not having encountered this specific vocabulary term yet in his middle school science curriculum. And as for me? I couldn’t in good conscience let such a painful transgression go…un…pun…ished (I know, I know, something about a “pot” and a “kettle”, blah blah blah…) so I chucked a few acorns his direction in retribution…while secretly admiring his cleverness, of course. (Shhh! You must never tell! It will only encourage him…)

So, yeah…thus ends another installment of the ongoing saga…Nerds in Nature. Next time you see us, please try to refrain from pelting us with squirrel food—although I reaaalllly can’t say I’d blame you!

The Rundown...

Random thought for the day: it suddenly occurred to me that we moved to North Carolina at the very beginning of Summer. So we got to experience the entirety of the hot, sticky time—in theory, at least, as everyone kept assuring us it was much, much milder than usual. Now we’re entering our second season, which is one of my favorites. I just looooove the cooler, crisper Fall weather, the eye-popping foliage, the pumpkin…everything.  And since the boys’ Progress Reports just came out, detailing how they’ve been doing in school these first 4-1/2 weeks, it seems as good a time as any for a Team WestEnders Evaluation as well.

First up, Husband, who gives every indication of having adjusted seamlessly to the whole “working from home” model. Without his up-to-two-hours in the car every day, he has enjoyed much more control over his daily agenda. In concrete terms, this has meant he can manage his teleconferences, client phone calls, and…all that other stuff he does…while still taking time to meander approximately four steps into the kitchen for a ramen-noodle lunch break, or even hitting ‘pause’ on his work activities to go for a mid-morning run if the weather is particularly nice. As he expressed it to me one day, “I’m getting more sleep…and I have time to read, now!”  And yes, I’m also absolutely delighted (not to mention relieved) to report that he has agreed to fully comply with the strict “You MUST wear pants on the job…even if your immediate family members are the only ones who will see you!”

Moving on to Derek, who appears to have bonded with his Bus Stop Buddies--although honestly the amount of homework he and his friends have to wade through every night generally precludes them from hanging out after school. He did take in his first high school event, a soccer game (surprised? anyone?) between his Chapel Hill Tigers and their “crosstown” rivals, the East Chapel Hill Wildcats. (And by the way, does anyone else instantly start hearing the High School Musical soundtrack in their head? What team? Wildcats! No? Just me, then…)

We actually had a bit of a…thing…about his attending the match. His friend from across the street invited him to go, and also ride with him. But I felt weird about that, never having met ANY of the family. We’ve also never had the experience of letting Derek go somewhere without parental supervision…oh, and the game was “away” (even if only 2 miles) at the other school, where none of us has ever been. So basically it meant sending my kid off with strangers…to an unfamiliar place…by himself. Yeah, Mom just couldn’t handle that. The compromise we proposed was that Husband would drive him and stay to watch the game…but Derek did NOT have to sit with him…or even acknowledge his presence in ANY way. (This meant Riley got recruited to keep his father company, resulting in an empty house and a few hours of peace and quiet for me…now that’s what I call a WIN-WIN!)

Next there’s Riley…halfway through the first quarter, he’s found a posse to hang out with on his daily “commute” to school. Apparently they’ve figured out the schedule of which kid comes out of their house at what time, and they arrange their walk to pick up everyone at their driveway as they pass. (That’s my kid: Mr. Logistics.) In fact, the other day as he left for school Riley announced over his shoulder, “Gotta go! Time to meet my homies!” Fortunately the door shut behind him too quickly for him to witness me snorting my coffee. I just don’t have the heart to tell him he can’t possibly have “homies”…he’s far too…um, "suburban"…for that. 

Otherwise he seems to be handling the increased autonomy and workload of middle school pretty well. For example, he told me that today he’d volunarily chosen to stay in for recess (give me a second to let that sink in…) and knock out some of his math assignment. As I processed this nearly incomprehensible information, I managed to mumble, “Um…nice job, honey?” Then I gave up and asked, “Okay…WHY would you do that?” He matter-of-factly stated, “Because I have soccer practice tonight, and the Orioles playoff game is on, and I wanted to make sure to get it done so I can still have some free time to watch. (Yep, that’s his other name: Mr. Responsible.)

As for me, I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my life—well, the part where someone pays me, anyway. To this end, I revamped my resume to highlight skills I’ve used in previous jobs…while not actually searching for a position in those fields. I know, it’s confusing--for everybody, apparently. I posted my brand new, improved...“here’s what I can do for you”document…online at various job sites. I got one email about a Publication Specialist…that sounds (at least sort of? maybe close enough?) like what I’m talking about! Aaannnd… I don’t know how these things work, but I haven’t heard anything further. (Patience, we may have already established, is NOT among my list of virtues...) 

Meanwhile, I’ve received several other inquiries—from companies that contacted me using BOTH email AND phone number—about …”franchise opportunities” in something to do with “medical blah blah blah” (spa, maybe? who knows)…and (wait for it…) “sales” at a “banking/insurance” firm. What. The. Heck? I’m sorry, where in my illustrious employment history, career goals, or professional skills and abilities does it mention a word about wanting to own a business…or sell anything…to anyone? (Oh-kay...and now I have the John Cusack speech from Say Anything in my head...sigh...) But seriously, are you people even bothering to READ my finely-crafted, painstakingly constructed resume? Jeesh! (The odd nature of this—what I can only assume is the equivalent of robo-fishing-for-candidates—had me returning to each of the sites, to check if I had somehow, I don’t know, slipped while typing and presented myself as a Retail/Marketing/Finance…person. I had not. I remain stymied.)

And that, in a (very large and…verbose) nutshell, is where we stand in early October. Thankfully, the hour has arrived for me to savor a pumpkin ale in front of a post-season baseball game where both the on-field crew and the stands are chock-full of the seasonally-appropriate orange-and-black…Let’s go, Os!