Friday morning, after sleeping off the Thanksgiving festival o' carbs, I was refreshed and ready for a whirlwind social tour. (Well, you know, after a trip to the nearest Quickie-Mart for a nice tall cup of the blessed nectar of life....um, "coffee".) The first stop involved a lunch-slash-gab-session with two college friends. In a nutshell: there was lots of catching up, much laughter, and tons of good stories--it's always such fun to let your hair down with people who've known you for...let's just say "decades" and leave it at that, shall we?
After bidding them "adieu for now" I made my way to a nearby park to squeeze in a stroll before the sun set. It was...brisk...but I had a festive holiday playlist queued up on my phone for my listening enjoyment as I ambled through the woods, so it was all good. (That is, until I could no longer feel my legs because they were numbed by the cold wind, but that's just the signal that you're done, right?) From there, I set off on the familiar roads toward my former hometown...a scenario that suddenly struck me as extremely...weird. I mean, here I was, driving along my old familiar byways, yet I was a visitor, without a home base to which I could return. I felt like some kind of, I don't know...modern-day nomad, maybe...having packed everything I thought I'd need for the day that morning before leaving my dad's house.
So there I was, with several hours to kill before my next engagement, needing somewhere to hang out, and activities to while away the free time. Hmmm...what's a place can one go, that actually encourages loitering...and sampling the wares...for free? Ding ding, ding: the Public Library, of course! (aka Readers' Heaven...) Since I'd planned ahead, I'd brought my laptop along, and therefore was able to settle down in a comfy chair--and goof off--to my heart's content. Well...for approximately 40 minutes, until they announced that they were closing. (Sigh. Didn't see that coming...) Okay, fine, moving on...I'm a little bit hungry, so maybe I'll grab a snack. Hey...there just happens to be a restaurant right down the street that all of Team WestEnders used to L-O-V-E...that we miss, since they don't exist in NC...conveniently located right across the street from where I'm scheduled to make my upcoming rendezvous. Yeah, it seems like fate, doesn't it?
Even though I knew I'd get into such a huge amount of hot water if it ever got back to my family--particularly Derek--that I went there without them...I did it anyway (So please do me a big favor and shhhhhhhh! I'm counting on you to keep a secret! Until my son reads this for himself and gives me heck, anyway...) I boldly walked up to the counter, and ordered chips, salsa, and guacamole (with only a slight amount of guilt...but a whole lot more anticipation), The cashier asked for my loyalty card--which I'd naturally left in the car--so he entered my phone number instead. "You have $5 in Burrito Bucks on here; would you like to use it?" he asked cheerfully. Uh...darn right I would appreciate paying 74-cents for my dinner! So you see, it truly was destiny that I ended up in California Tortilla...I was clearly following the Will of the Universe...and therefore I can't be blamed at all! (Think that'll fly with the kids? Yeah, me neither...but that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it, as they say...)
After that, I still had a few minutes before I was due at Starbucks, so I wandered around Homegoods in the same shopping center...which explains how I ended up with new spatulas...and coasters...to bring home from my trip. The boys were understandably confused as to why I went to Maryland...and brought back kitchen supplies (but the explanation doesn't really clarify anything, so they're just going to have to accept it as a sort of...mystic happening...or some such nonsense...). Finally, a date for Coffee Talk with some Playgroup Pals--we met when our oldest children were less than a year old, and although our offspring don't necessarily keep in touch anymore, we still get together whenever we can for some much-needed grownup bonding....caffeine and chatting, what could be better? (Oh, except it was 7 p.m., so it was definitely decaf for all of us--but you know what I mean...)
But wait, as if that weren't enough gallivanting, I still had one more item on the agenda. The next morning I prepared to say "hasta la proxima mes" ("see you next month") to my sister and father (the rest of the clan not having surfaced yet, at the ungodly hour of my departure...you might know it as "9:30") and travel to yet another java reunion, with an interpreter-buddy from my previous job. Several cups of joe and hours of stimulating conversation later, it was time to bid Maryland farewell, at least for this excursion. The weather was unnecessarily chilly (in my humble opinion) but with an abundance of special time shared with family and friends, the hospitality left absolutely nothing to be desired. In fact, I have an idea! It was sooooo delightful, let's do it all again in December, okay? Aaannnd, let the calendar syncing begin!
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Friday, November 28, 2014
Over the River and Through the Woods (ish)
Team WestEnders deviated from custom for the Thanksgiving holiday this year, deciding to follow a Split Squad format and travel in opposite directions. The Male Posse thus headed south, to spend the weekend with Husband's parents. And I set off northbound, to visit my family in Maryland for the first time since we moved away in June.
My original plan was to eat breakfast at home on Wednesday, then get in the car immediately afterwards, so I could entertain even a hopeful prayer of getting through Northern Virginia before the extra-special-rush-hour-day-before-Thanksgiving traffic mayhem commenced. Then...I started hearing whispers of a 4-letter word--that would be "snow"--in the forecast for the greater D.C. metro area. Well, that just throws a big old monkey wrench in the carefully crafted agenda, now doesn't it? (And can I just say: it's FAR too early for this nonsense! Ooh, I'm so happy we're going to have a White Thanksgiving....said NO ONE...EVER! Or, yeah, maybe that's just me...)
When the impending doom--um, "meteorological situation"--got so dire that people began posting weather updates on Facebook, I knew it was time for an Emergency Plan B. This hastily-conceived idea involved the extremely unusual scenario of me getting up at 6 a.m., tossing on clothes, and hitting the road ASAP...all in an attempt to outrun the storm. In reality, by the time I got ready (which took longer than anticipated...must have been the Curse of the Early Hour), and picked up coffee (absolutely necessary for this endeavor) and money, it was about 6:40 before I managed to put rubber on the road. To further complicate matters, in North Carolina it was raining buckets...as in "reduced visibility" and, oh yeah, the ever-so-pleasant twin threats of "standing water" and "danger of hydroplaning".
Suffice it to say, the conditions were soooo very not-pleasant--and this continued...for about 4 hours. That's right, it pretty much poured all the way to Tyson's Corner, Virginia...where it switched over to the dreaded white stuff. By this point, I had made awesome time, since I hadn't stopped for anything. No convenience store snack, no pee break, no Diet Pepsi infusion--just driving like the proverbial "bat out of hell". So I was actually in really good shape when the flakes started to fall....and I just wanted to keep moving and get this sucker over with. When all was said and done, I pulled into my dad's driveway at about 5 hours and 28 minutes (you know "approximately", 'cuz only a Type A person would have been writing down the times...oops...), safe and sound, even if also...exhausted and famished.
And believe me, the irony was not lost on me: one of the major reasons I left this area was because I was so very, very much O-V-E-R Winter, with its frigid temperatures...and its frozen precipitation...and whatnot. So of course, on my first return visit my former hometown rolls out a blanket of snow in lieu of the (much more appreciated) welcome mat? (Gee...thaaaaanks....) While the new timeline and the state of the roadways forced me to abandon my original dinner plans with a friend, I did get to take a Winter Wonderland walk to stretch my legs after my non-stop travel day, and of course spend some bonus quality time with my family. And boy, did it feel good to settle down for that "long Winter's nap" at the end of the evening!
Because the next day was all about gearing up for the Grand Meal, naturally. You know the drill--wake up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey in the oven, start chopping...stuff...and, um...make 6 hours worth of side dishes...etc. Okay, I'm totally fabricating, here. You see, my brother was going to deep fry the poultry, which requires a relatively short amount of time, and the accompanying casseroles could be assembled a few hours before dinner, so we had...some leisure hours! (Whoo hoo!) So, I was able to fit in another (chilly) stroll, and we took a girl's-only jaunt (Me, Sis, Niece) to the grocery store for some last-minute supplies...and then we bonded over the prepping of stuffing and mashed potatoes. (No, really, it was really cool "peeling and sauteeing and stirring and chatting" time!)
I have to say, dinner turned out pretty darn great (although I'll have to take everyone else's word for it on the turkey, obviously). Then it was time to revive yet another bygone family tradition, from back in the days when I was in college and coming home for Thanksgiving break, I think: no, not pre-Black Friday shopping (which we might have done once or twice, but we're older...wiser...and not as crazy anymore...), but Thanksgiving Night Sister Movie. (Yeah, we really need to work on that title, don't we?) This time we included the niece as well, sticking with the all-female theme, and took ourselves to see Mockingjay Part 1. It's a lovely way to relax and let the carbs settle...while watching an action-packed, emotionally stressful, thrilling, ultimately satisfying film, right? (I might have had a wee bit of trouble getting to sleep right afterwards, but otherwise, it works for us!)
So that just about sums up the first 2 days of my Inaugural Maryland Excursion--as a tourist, that is. I have to admit that it felt a bit weird, staying at a parent's house for the first time as an adult (displacing my nephews from their room in the process--and a huge thank you for the bed, guys!). But you can't beat the togetherness, and we've definitely made some wonderful memories. Now it's time to enjoy the last full day in the Northland before making my way back to Chapel Hill tomorrow. So...gloves: check. Coat: check. Wool socks: check. Sweater: check. Warm shoes: check. Okay, I'm ready for some more fun!
My original plan was to eat breakfast at home on Wednesday, then get in the car immediately afterwards, so I could entertain even a hopeful prayer of getting through Northern Virginia before the extra-special-rush-hour-day-before-Thanksgiving traffic mayhem commenced. Then...I started hearing whispers of a 4-letter word--that would be "snow"--in the forecast for the greater D.C. metro area. Well, that just throws a big old monkey wrench in the carefully crafted agenda, now doesn't it? (And can I just say: it's FAR too early for this nonsense! Ooh, I'm so happy we're going to have a White Thanksgiving....said NO ONE...EVER! Or, yeah, maybe that's just me...)
When the impending doom--um, "meteorological situation"--got so dire that people began posting weather updates on Facebook, I knew it was time for an Emergency Plan B. This hastily-conceived idea involved the extremely unusual scenario of me getting up at 6 a.m., tossing on clothes, and hitting the road ASAP...all in an attempt to outrun the storm. In reality, by the time I got ready (which took longer than anticipated...must have been the Curse of the Early Hour), and picked up coffee (absolutely necessary for this endeavor) and money, it was about 6:40 before I managed to put rubber on the road. To further complicate matters, in North Carolina it was raining buckets...as in "reduced visibility" and, oh yeah, the ever-so-pleasant twin threats of "standing water" and "danger of hydroplaning".
Suffice it to say, the conditions were soooo very not-pleasant--and this continued...for about 4 hours. That's right, it pretty much poured all the way to Tyson's Corner, Virginia...where it switched over to the dreaded white stuff. By this point, I had made awesome time, since I hadn't stopped for anything. No convenience store snack, no pee break, no Diet Pepsi infusion--just driving like the proverbial "bat out of hell". So I was actually in really good shape when the flakes started to fall....and I just wanted to keep moving and get this sucker over with. When all was said and done, I pulled into my dad's driveway at about 5 hours and 28 minutes (you know "approximately", 'cuz only a Type A person would have been writing down the times...oops...), safe and sound, even if also...exhausted and famished.
And believe me, the irony was not lost on me: one of the major reasons I left this area was because I was so very, very much O-V-E-R Winter, with its frigid temperatures...and its frozen precipitation...and whatnot. So of course, on my first return visit my former hometown rolls out a blanket of snow in lieu of the (much more appreciated) welcome mat? (Gee...thaaaaanks....) While the new timeline and the state of the roadways forced me to abandon my original dinner plans with a friend, I did get to take a Winter Wonderland walk to stretch my legs after my non-stop travel day, and of course spend some bonus quality time with my family. And boy, did it feel good to settle down for that "long Winter's nap" at the end of the evening!
Because the next day was all about gearing up for the Grand Meal, naturally. You know the drill--wake up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey in the oven, start chopping...stuff...and, um...make 6 hours worth of side dishes...etc. Okay, I'm totally fabricating, here. You see, my brother was going to deep fry the poultry, which requires a relatively short amount of time, and the accompanying casseroles could be assembled a few hours before dinner, so we had...some leisure hours! (Whoo hoo!) So, I was able to fit in another (chilly) stroll, and we took a girl's-only jaunt (Me, Sis, Niece) to the grocery store for some last-minute supplies...and then we bonded over the prepping of stuffing and mashed potatoes. (No, really, it was really cool "peeling and sauteeing and stirring and chatting" time!)
I have to say, dinner turned out pretty darn great (although I'll have to take everyone else's word for it on the turkey, obviously). Then it was time to revive yet another bygone family tradition, from back in the days when I was in college and coming home for Thanksgiving break, I think: no, not pre-Black Friday shopping (which we might have done once or twice, but we're older...wiser...and not as crazy anymore...), but Thanksgiving Night Sister Movie. (Yeah, we really need to work on that title, don't we?) This time we included the niece as well, sticking with the all-female theme, and took ourselves to see Mockingjay Part 1. It's a lovely way to relax and let the carbs settle...while watching an action-packed, emotionally stressful, thrilling, ultimately satisfying film, right? (I might have had a wee bit of trouble getting to sleep right afterwards, but otherwise, it works for us!)
So that just about sums up the first 2 days of my Inaugural Maryland Excursion--as a tourist, that is. I have to admit that it felt a bit weird, staying at a parent's house for the first time as an adult (displacing my nephews from their room in the process--and a huge thank you for the bed, guys!). But you can't beat the togetherness, and we've definitely made some wonderful memories. Now it's time to enjoy the last full day in the Northland before making my way back to Chapel Hill tomorrow. So...gloves: check. Coat: check. Wool socks: check. Sweater: check. Warm shoes: check. Okay, I'm ready for some more fun!
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
New Zoo Review
While spending many years in the D.C. metro area, Team WestEnders had the good fortune to be able to take advantage of the National Zoo. Yes, it was kind of a trek for us, involving either A) the time and turmoil of navigating into our nation's capital...of traffic hell...or B) driving to a subway station (15 minutes), shelling out for parking and farecards ($5.10 for the car, and $14.40 for the 4 of us humans, during off-peak hours), waiting for a train, riding for 40-minutes or so, then walking the last half-mile to the entrance. Still, the park itself is free, and we enjoyed the opportunity to spend quality hours with some of nature's more exotic creatures.
So, when we discussed relocating, one thing Husband mentioned--only partly jokingly--was that there had to be a zoo somewhere in the travel-able vicinity for him to consider moving. Well, it just so happens that there is a North Carolina Zoo...and now that our weekends (temporarily) aren't being dominated by soccer, we had a free Saturday to go check it out. The first thing I can say is that it's a good thing we had a big chunk of time to devote to our excursion, because this place is located in Asheboro, 58 miles away...which translates to over an hour of driving...into the approximate middle of N-O-W-H-E-R-E, as it turns out. Luckily it was a cool, sunny, all-around-beautiful Fall day--very pleasant for a car trip. (In case you're wondering just how far out in the sticks we ended up: we started spying gas for sale at $2.53 per gallon. Holy...Boondocks Bargain, Batman!)
Since it's kind of the "off-season" now, there weren't hordes of other people out visiting the animals. On the flip side, the chilly start to the day had some of the critters lying around, seemingly in semi-hibernation mode. (Or maybe they were merely spending a relaxing weekend morning, saving up their energy for the...Saturday Night Wild Kingdom Blowout Bash...hard to tell...) We kicked off our tour in the North America section, where we saw lazy black bears, entertaining otters, scary snakes...and a bunch of other cool stuff. But what really took our breath away was the Prairie Exhibit, populated by herds of elk and bison. You see, in Washington, space was understandably limited. The zoo's residents had nice enclosures, to be sure, but they weren't what you'd call...expansive. But gazing out upon the rolling grasslands where the buffalo literally roamed, (and yes,, the deer and the antelope played...) I suddenly understood quite clearly why they chose to plop the zoo on this huge piece of God's green earth. So. Much. SPACE.
It was the same as we continued into the African portion of our journey. The elephants, rhinoceroses, zebras and giraffes occupied such an enormous hunk of real estate that never had to run into each other, unless they actually wanted to--you know, for a...Savannah Tea Party...or something. (Yeah, the critters are apparently very social in my imagination for some reason...) There were also chimps of all ages, from mamas with babes-in-arms, to several old-timers born in the '70s. All together, the zoo has about 17 of them (!) who rotate being on display...to allow for some much needed Primate Downtime, I suppose. Then came the highlight of the entire day, as far as I was concerned: the lions' den. One shaggy-maned male, one regal female...and four indescribably adorable, cuddly, fluffy, playful, precious CUBS. Oh. My. Gosh...Sooooooo Stinkin' Cute! They scurried, they stalked, they pounced, they wrestled...and I coulda totally stood right there and watched them ALL DAY, I tell ya. (Well, at least until they settled down for one of their frequent snoozes--after all, they are just great big kitty cats, right?)
After that, we found ourselves tired and footsore, and ready to wrap up a successful first zoo expedition. We do already know that we have to come back, since we missed several species' this time. (Oh, baboons, polar bear, and grizzlies, where were you? Better things to do than amuse the general public, eh? No worries, we'll catch ya in the Spring...) And I had read when checking out the online information that there's even a hiking trail you can do (sure, as if you haven't had enough walking...) with the intriguing name of..."Purgatory". Sounds like something we must conquer...on the other side of our first North Carolina Winter. Hopefully everyone--the two-and-four-legged beasts alike--will be feeling sprightly for the next go-around...
So, when we discussed relocating, one thing Husband mentioned--only partly jokingly--was that there had to be a zoo somewhere in the travel-able vicinity for him to consider moving. Well, it just so happens that there is a North Carolina Zoo...and now that our weekends (temporarily) aren't being dominated by soccer, we had a free Saturday to go check it out. The first thing I can say is that it's a good thing we had a big chunk of time to devote to our excursion, because this place is located in Asheboro, 58 miles away...which translates to over an hour of driving...into the approximate middle of N-O-W-H-E-R-E, as it turns out. Luckily it was a cool, sunny, all-around-beautiful Fall day--very pleasant for a car trip. (In case you're wondering just how far out in the sticks we ended up: we started spying gas for sale at $2.53 per gallon. Holy...Boondocks Bargain, Batman!)
Since it's kind of the "off-season" now, there weren't hordes of other people out visiting the animals. On the flip side, the chilly start to the day had some of the critters lying around, seemingly in semi-hibernation mode. (Or maybe they were merely spending a relaxing weekend morning, saving up their energy for the...Saturday Night Wild Kingdom Blowout Bash...hard to tell...) We kicked off our tour in the North America section, where we saw lazy black bears, entertaining otters, scary snakes...and a bunch of other cool stuff. But what really took our breath away was the Prairie Exhibit, populated by herds of elk and bison. You see, in Washington, space was understandably limited. The zoo's residents had nice enclosures, to be sure, but they weren't what you'd call...expansive. But gazing out upon the rolling grasslands where the buffalo literally roamed, (and yes,, the deer and the antelope played...) I suddenly understood quite clearly why they chose to plop the zoo on this huge piece of God's green earth. So. Much. SPACE.
It was the same as we continued into the African portion of our journey. The elephants, rhinoceroses, zebras and giraffes occupied such an enormous hunk of real estate that never had to run into each other, unless they actually wanted to--you know, for a...Savannah Tea Party...or something. (Yeah, the critters are apparently very social in my imagination for some reason...) There were also chimps of all ages, from mamas with babes-in-arms, to several old-timers born in the '70s. All together, the zoo has about 17 of them (!) who rotate being on display...to allow for some much needed Primate Downtime, I suppose. Then came the highlight of the entire day, as far as I was concerned: the lions' den. One shaggy-maned male, one regal female...and four indescribably adorable, cuddly, fluffy, playful, precious CUBS. Oh. My. Gosh...Sooooooo Stinkin' Cute! They scurried, they stalked, they pounced, they wrestled...and I coulda totally stood right there and watched them ALL DAY, I tell ya. (Well, at least until they settled down for one of their frequent snoozes--after all, they are just great big kitty cats, right?)
After that, we found ourselves tired and footsore, and ready to wrap up a successful first zoo expedition. We do already know that we have to come back, since we missed several species' this time. (Oh, baboons, polar bear, and grizzlies, where were you? Better things to do than amuse the general public, eh? No worries, we'll catch ya in the Spring...) And I had read when checking out the online information that there's even a hiking trail you can do (sure, as if you haven't had enough walking...) with the intriguing name of..."Purgatory". Sounds like something we must conquer...on the other side of our first North Carolina Winter. Hopefully everyone--the two-and-four-legged beasts alike--will be feeling sprightly for the next go-around...
Sunday, November 23, 2014
From the Mind...and Mouth...of Riley
You know how people say they'd like to be a "fly on the wall", to be able to eavesdrop on certain private conversations, or observe something happening behind closed doors? Well, there are times when I'd think it'd be fascinating to be able to see firsthand exactly what goes on inside the complicated mechanism of Riley's brain.. (Let me think, what would work in this scenario? Hmm...any kind of insect would be too invasive, and potentially harmful. And some sort of...advanced alien life form, visiting for research purposes, sounds too...creepy. Ooh, I know--I could use a microscopic submarine like in the movie Fantastic Voyage! Yeah, that's totally doable...)
Anyway, last night, for example, we were pulling into the garage fairly late in the evening, after a lovely time spent with a friend and her family, eating and chatting and congregating around their backyard fire pit. Husband's car stereo was set to the local classic rock station, as it often is, and Eddie Money's tune Two Tickets to Paradise began to play. I don't know if it was the fact that it had been a long day and he was tired...or he's just an innate gooberhead...but Riley piped up from the back seat, "Here's what I don't get about this song." ("Uh-oh, here we go," I thought, as alarm bells started shrieking in my head. ") "What's that, buddy?" Husband innocently asked. (Meanwhile, "Are you crazy? Do you even KNOW your son? You're only going to encourage the madness!" I said...silently...I tell ya, it was a very effective exchange...in my imagination...)
But it was far too late to turn back, as Riley launched into the following: "Well, he says he's got two tickets to paradise, pack your bags, we'll leave tonight." (Yeaaahhh, we're all--cautiously--with you so far...) "But he doesn't say what time they're leaving! Or...or where they're actually going! I mean, you don't know what to pack, or when to show up. And the flight could be delayed, so that would be another problem..." Oh. Good. Grief. I just wordlessly shook my head, as Derek turned to his brother, mouth gaping and expression incredulous. Finally the teenager managed to sputter, "WHY are you so concerned with Eddie Money's vacation plans?" And Husband? He sat with his head resting on the steering wheel, shaking with uncontrollable muted laughter, completely unable to speak or move. So congratulations, son; you succeeded in incapacitating your entire family...with one well-delivered '70s pop rant...
Less than 12 hours later, he was up and at it again. (Memo To Me: in future, if at all possible, avoid youngest son until AFTER ingestion of coffee...) I had instigated a food-related discussion with Derek the previous morning--while watching him toast 2 full-sized bagels for his breakfast. I opined that perhaps that was more carbs than any human being truly NEEDED to consume in one meal, and suggested that he at least put something on them that contained protein and healthy fat, to provide more balanced nutrition. (And--bonus--keep him full for a longer period...you know, if that's even feasible...) So instead of his usual oleo, I offered cream cheese or peanut butter. "Is it creamy or crunchy?" he inquired of the latter choice. When I informed him it was the smooth variety, he turned up his nose, but condescended to use it anyway, given the lack of his preferred type. (A peanut butter snob--who knew?) I promised I'd get him the other kind on my next excursion to the grocery store...
Which led me to pose the same question to Riley the next day. He immediately, emphatically responded, "Oh, I don't really like bits of peanuts in there." That was clear enough for me, and I was just about to write that down on my shopping list and move on with my day when he continued, thoughtfully, "It reminds me too much of...a colloid....with solid pieces suspended in a liquid...and that just seems...wrong." Siiiiiighhhh. All I can say is: thank goodness he had a Science test a few days ago that included this very vocabulary word, and I had helped him study. So at least I had an inkling of what he was talking about...even if he is one big honkin' nerdling.
And there you have it...Riley's stream-of-consciousness can be a Class 5 Rapids experience at times...but you can't deny it's also usually a fun trip...
Anyway, last night, for example, we were pulling into the garage fairly late in the evening, after a lovely time spent with a friend and her family, eating and chatting and congregating around their backyard fire pit. Husband's car stereo was set to the local classic rock station, as it often is, and Eddie Money's tune Two Tickets to Paradise began to play. I don't know if it was the fact that it had been a long day and he was tired...or he's just an innate gooberhead...but Riley piped up from the back seat, "Here's what I don't get about this song." ("Uh-oh, here we go," I thought, as alarm bells started shrieking in my head. ") "What's that, buddy?" Husband innocently asked. (Meanwhile, "Are you crazy? Do you even KNOW your son? You're only going to encourage the madness!" I said...silently...I tell ya, it was a very effective exchange...in my imagination...)
But it was far too late to turn back, as Riley launched into the following: "Well, he says he's got two tickets to paradise, pack your bags, we'll leave tonight." (Yeaaahhh, we're all--cautiously--with you so far...) "But he doesn't say what time they're leaving! Or...or where they're actually going! I mean, you don't know what to pack, or when to show up. And the flight could be delayed, so that would be another problem..." Oh. Good. Grief. I just wordlessly shook my head, as Derek turned to his brother, mouth gaping and expression incredulous. Finally the teenager managed to sputter, "WHY are you so concerned with Eddie Money's vacation plans?" And Husband? He sat with his head resting on the steering wheel, shaking with uncontrollable muted laughter, completely unable to speak or move. So congratulations, son; you succeeded in incapacitating your entire family...with one well-delivered '70s pop rant...
Less than 12 hours later, he was up and at it again. (Memo To Me: in future, if at all possible, avoid youngest son until AFTER ingestion of coffee...) I had instigated a food-related discussion with Derek the previous morning--while watching him toast 2 full-sized bagels for his breakfast. I opined that perhaps that was more carbs than any human being truly NEEDED to consume in one meal, and suggested that he at least put something on them that contained protein and healthy fat, to provide more balanced nutrition. (And--bonus--keep him full for a longer period...you know, if that's even feasible...) So instead of his usual oleo, I offered cream cheese or peanut butter. "Is it creamy or crunchy?" he inquired of the latter choice. When I informed him it was the smooth variety, he turned up his nose, but condescended to use it anyway, given the lack of his preferred type. (A peanut butter snob--who knew?) I promised I'd get him the other kind on my next excursion to the grocery store...
Which led me to pose the same question to Riley the next day. He immediately, emphatically responded, "Oh, I don't really like bits of peanuts in there." That was clear enough for me, and I was just about to write that down on my shopping list and move on with my day when he continued, thoughtfully, "It reminds me too much of...a colloid....with solid pieces suspended in a liquid...and that just seems...wrong." Siiiiiighhhh. All I can say is: thank goodness he had a Science test a few days ago that included this very vocabulary word, and I had helped him study. So at least I had an inkling of what he was talking about...even if he is one big honkin' nerdling.
And there you have it...Riley's stream-of-consciousness can be a Class 5 Rapids experience at times...but you can't deny it's also usually a fun trip...
Thursday, November 20, 2014
The Beautiful Game...Revised
Well, folks, it seems that we here at Team WestEnders have gotten ourselves into a novel (for us, anyway) Soccer Situation. First, some necessary background: both Derek and Riley spent their entire..."careers"...in Maryland playing for one local club. It was purely recreational--competition being entirely "in-house" and all games being held at the home field...about a mile from where we lived--and we all enjoyed years and years of awesome family fun. To be honest, occasionally it occurred to us that perhaps the boys should try out for the higher level...but the added practices and, well, the driving all over creation for Travel League kept us from encouraging the kids to go in that direction.
Now, in our new hometown, the sporting picture is very different. There's "recreation", which promotes itself as being purely for pleasure--and in fact is soooo casual and laid-back that they don't even KEEP SCORE. Then there's Triangle United Challenge, which requires you to "try out"...but this really just means showing up for a scrimmage and demonstrating your skills for the Director, so he can determine if this level is appropriate for you. Finally, there's TU Classic: loads more expensive; year-round training multiple times a week; and be-bopping all over the state for matches and tournaments.
Okay, after I researched all that and presented it to Husband, we agreed to dismiss the lowest and highest options as being, respectively, too little competition, and too much commitment. HOWEVER...when Derek didn't make his high school team, it turned out his only choice was the Rainbow rec-league, since Challenge isn't available to his age group in the Fall, due to (ironically)... too many players being tied up with their school teams. Meanwhile, we got Riley signed up for Challenge with no difficulty, and so got the opportunity to learn about what that entailed. Basically the most surprising aspect for us was that it involved...more commuting than we expected, with almost all of his matches happening at complexes located 20-30 minutes away.
They both had perfectly good experiences with their Fall teams, though. But one thing that the high school coach had recommended for Derek to work on improving was...aggressiveness. At the time, this made both of us laugh uproariously, because in the last few years, having grown quite a bit taller--and also having become a very solidly-built kid--he found himself getting constantly called for fouls when he attempted to use his body to block (legally...most of the time...) thereby causing smaller kids to literally bounce off him (and often hit the ground). Then this past season, playing COED, he obviously tried very hard to keep himself in check so as not to plow over either shorter kids...or girls...during games. All of this adds up to: another season of NOT being able to focus on the kind of aggressive play that seems to be required from players his age in the NC soccer system.
I believe that catches us up to the present. Riley will fortunately be able to continue with his current team in the Spring, so no worries there...but we needed to figure out what to do with Derek. I believed it would be as simple as bringing him to the same kind of informal tryout that Riley had done, to be placed on a Challenge team. With this in mind, I emailed the Director of the U15-18 Division of TU, to make arrangements. He promptly responded with a date, time, and location for Derek to attend a practice with his peers. "Great", I though, "So we're all set, yeah?"
Then Derek came home from school and said, "Um...Mom? My friend told me he's going to the same tryout...and it's for a...Bronze Classic team." "Well, that can't be right, I started to reply." But then I paused for a moment to consider: I never actually stated that Derek was interested in Challenge rather than Classic, and the Director with whom I had communicated covers both levels. Oops, my bad. So we showed up anyway (might as well, right?) and talked to the man in charge, who happened to be the coach of the team running around on the field. I explained our error, and he immediately asked, "Why do you want Challenge rather than Classic?" Without hesitation I answered, "Because of the traveling!" He informed us that for Derek's age group...the distances would be pretty much the same, because they have to go further to find teams of older kids. Ohhhhhhh, I see...well, that's certainly interesting news.
Since we were already there, and Derek was geared up and ready to go, we decided to let him stay and play...and see how it went. The coach assured me he'd evaluate Derek to determine if he would be offered one of the open spots on his own team--or if not, he would tell the Director that Derek needed to be placed with a Challenge group. And I've gotta say, standing there watching the practice...that's a whole other level of soccer than we're used to, right there. The amount of talent and skill on that patch of grass was pretty astonishing...even to someone who's been spectating from the soccer sidelines since Derek was 6 years old. When they were winding down, Coach came over and updated me, "I have 3 vacancies, 4 kids trying out, and everyone looked really good tonight, Can you come to another practice and I'll make my selections then?" Um...you betcha! His parting advice was: "One thing I want to see is...more aggressive play." Oh. Good. Grief. Derek and I exchanged a look and tried not to snicker. He added, "You're a big kid; use your body!" Noted, Coach.
As luck would have it, Husband was out of town AGAIN during all these shenanigans...so he got a real earful when he returned. Iin the end, we agreed that we'd let the results of the tryout determine which way we headed. If Derek made it, it meant that we should allow him to compete at this level, because it would only give him the opportunity to continue to grow as a player. As for the expense and the excursion...ing...we'd suck it up and make it work. And if he wasn't chosen, there'd be no issues with him joining a Challenge squad, anyway. So, Husband took Derek to the second practice. When they arrived home I couldn't tell from their expressions (Derek appeared exhausted, Husband...super-chilled) what had transpired, so I was a little nervous about inquiring. But Husband told me that 30 minutes into the hour-and-a-half session, the coach had approached him and offered Derek a spot. (Pause: YAAAYYY! Way to go, sweetie! Mom's proud of you!) Apparently Coach R was pleased by the difference in what Derek showed him since the previous meeting...including--you guessed it--a marked increase in his physical play. (Derek grinned, "Yeah, I knocked someone over this time during the scrimmage; I guess he liked that!")
Thus begins a new era in the life of our teenaged Defender. For starters, unlike the off-season he's accustomed to, he'll continue to practice twice weekly...in December. (Can anyone say...Holy Frozen Footballers, Batman? That's gonna be a cooooold prospect...) Then in January (yeah, the even frostier month) they bump it up to 3 times per week to prepare for games that begin...in February. Ay yi yi...this would be totally terrific if we were in, say, the Mexican League...but Derek's loving, supportive Parental Units might be enthusiastically cheering him on...from the warmth of the car...for some of those early contests. Oh, and no information is available as yet in terms of where we'll be scurrying off to this Spring for those matches. I suppose we can look at it this way: we'll get more acquainted with our adopted state as we navigate our way to possibly far-flung fields. Heck, as much as we enjoy exploring and adventuring, I don't see this being much of a hardship...except of course if Derek's and Riley's games overlap...in which case Team WestEnders will be forced to use a Split Squad format...sigh...stay tuned for the potential craziness!
Now, in our new hometown, the sporting picture is very different. There's "recreation", which promotes itself as being purely for pleasure--and in fact is soooo casual and laid-back that they don't even KEEP SCORE. Then there's Triangle United Challenge, which requires you to "try out"...but this really just means showing up for a scrimmage and demonstrating your skills for the Director, so he can determine if this level is appropriate for you. Finally, there's TU Classic: loads more expensive; year-round training multiple times a week; and be-bopping all over the state for matches and tournaments.
Okay, after I researched all that and presented it to Husband, we agreed to dismiss the lowest and highest options as being, respectively, too little competition, and too much commitment. HOWEVER...when Derek didn't make his high school team, it turned out his only choice was the Rainbow rec-league, since Challenge isn't available to his age group in the Fall, due to (ironically)... too many players being tied up with their school teams. Meanwhile, we got Riley signed up for Challenge with no difficulty, and so got the opportunity to learn about what that entailed. Basically the most surprising aspect for us was that it involved...more commuting than we expected, with almost all of his matches happening at complexes located 20-30 minutes away.
They both had perfectly good experiences with their Fall teams, though. But one thing that the high school coach had recommended for Derek to work on improving was...aggressiveness. At the time, this made both of us laugh uproariously, because in the last few years, having grown quite a bit taller--and also having become a very solidly-built kid--he found himself getting constantly called for fouls when he attempted to use his body to block (legally...most of the time...) thereby causing smaller kids to literally bounce off him (and often hit the ground). Then this past season, playing COED, he obviously tried very hard to keep himself in check so as not to plow over either shorter kids...or girls...during games. All of this adds up to: another season of NOT being able to focus on the kind of aggressive play that seems to be required from players his age in the NC soccer system.
I believe that catches us up to the present. Riley will fortunately be able to continue with his current team in the Spring, so no worries there...but we needed to figure out what to do with Derek. I believed it would be as simple as bringing him to the same kind of informal tryout that Riley had done, to be placed on a Challenge team. With this in mind, I emailed the Director of the U15-18 Division of TU, to make arrangements. He promptly responded with a date, time, and location for Derek to attend a practice with his peers. "Great", I though, "So we're all set, yeah?"
Then Derek came home from school and said, "Um...Mom? My friend told me he's going to the same tryout...and it's for a...Bronze Classic team." "Well, that can't be right, I started to reply." But then I paused for a moment to consider: I never actually stated that Derek was interested in Challenge rather than Classic, and the Director with whom I had communicated covers both levels. Oops, my bad. So we showed up anyway (might as well, right?) and talked to the man in charge, who happened to be the coach of the team running around on the field. I explained our error, and he immediately asked, "Why do you want Challenge rather than Classic?" Without hesitation I answered, "Because of the traveling!" He informed us that for Derek's age group...the distances would be pretty much the same, because they have to go further to find teams of older kids. Ohhhhhhh, I see...well, that's certainly interesting news.
Since we were already there, and Derek was geared up and ready to go, we decided to let him stay and play...and see how it went. The coach assured me he'd evaluate Derek to determine if he would be offered one of the open spots on his own team--or if not, he would tell the Director that Derek needed to be placed with a Challenge group. And I've gotta say, standing there watching the practice...that's a whole other level of soccer than we're used to, right there. The amount of talent and skill on that patch of grass was pretty astonishing...even to someone who's been spectating from the soccer sidelines since Derek was 6 years old. When they were winding down, Coach came over and updated me, "I have 3 vacancies, 4 kids trying out, and everyone looked really good tonight, Can you come to another practice and I'll make my selections then?" Um...you betcha! His parting advice was: "One thing I want to see is...more aggressive play." Oh. Good. Grief. Derek and I exchanged a look and tried not to snicker. He added, "You're a big kid; use your body!" Noted, Coach.
As luck would have it, Husband was out of town AGAIN during all these shenanigans...so he got a real earful when he returned. Iin the end, we agreed that we'd let the results of the tryout determine which way we headed. If Derek made it, it meant that we should allow him to compete at this level, because it would only give him the opportunity to continue to grow as a player. As for the expense and the excursion...ing...we'd suck it up and make it work. And if he wasn't chosen, there'd be no issues with him joining a Challenge squad, anyway. So, Husband took Derek to the second practice. When they arrived home I couldn't tell from their expressions (Derek appeared exhausted, Husband...super-chilled) what had transpired, so I was a little nervous about inquiring. But Husband told me that 30 minutes into the hour-and-a-half session, the coach had approached him and offered Derek a spot. (Pause: YAAAYYY! Way to go, sweetie! Mom's proud of you!) Apparently Coach R was pleased by the difference in what Derek showed him since the previous meeting...including--you guessed it--a marked increase in his physical play. (Derek grinned, "Yeah, I knocked someone over this time during the scrimmage; I guess he liked that!")
Thus begins a new era in the life of our teenaged Defender. For starters, unlike the off-season he's accustomed to, he'll continue to practice twice weekly...in December. (Can anyone say...Holy Frozen Footballers, Batman? That's gonna be a cooooold prospect...) Then in January (yeah, the even frostier month) they bump it up to 3 times per week to prepare for games that begin...in February. Ay yi yi...this would be totally terrific if we were in, say, the Mexican League...but Derek's loving, supportive Parental Units might be enthusiastically cheering him on...from the warmth of the car...for some of those early contests. Oh, and no information is available as yet in terms of where we'll be scurrying off to this Spring for those matches. I suppose we can look at it this way: we'll get more acquainted with our adopted state as we navigate our way to possibly far-flung fields. Heck, as much as we enjoy exploring and adventuring, I don't see this being much of a hardship...except of course if Derek's and Riley's games overlap...in which case Team WestEnders will be forced to use a Split Squad format...sigh...stay tuned for the potential craziness!
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Cold Runnings
In 2013, Team WestEnders decided to try running a 5K race together, sort of on a trial basis. Primarily, we wanted to see if A) each of us--but especially the youngest member of our family--could handle that distance and B) we all would find the experience enjoyable (rather than, you know, "torturous"). The answers to both of those queries turned out to be a resounding "yes", so we promptly registered for another one a month later. However, since none of us is particularly fond of getting up too early, or driving too far first thing in the morning for an exercise-related event, we stuck to those two local races, then considered ourselves done for the season.
This year, we managed to repeat the June Alex's Run, a couple of weeks before moving. (Actually, I did the 3.1 miles at 8 a.m. on a Sunday, then immediately got cleaned up and drove to NC, so I'd be ready to sign papers at the closing for our new house the next day...just to add to the excitement and all...) Then, after getting relocated and settled in, we found out about a 5K happening in our new neighborhood in September and signed up for it. So, having equalled our total from the previous year, we figured we were finished for 2014. But...nooooo. I saw advertisements for another nearby race...in November.
At first I thought, "November? Are they crazy? It'll be frigid!" But then I remembered...we're further south than we used to be...and the temperatures tend to hover around the "balmy" level for longer into the Fall than we're accustomed to...so it would probably be quite pleasant. Also, unlike the Summer runs, which take place early to beat the climbing mercury, this one would be held at the extremely civilized hour of: 10 a.m. We wouldn't even have to set an alarm! We could...eat breakfast! As a final positive, it was scheduled for the weekend after the soccer seasons wrapped up for both boys--so I couldn't honestly think of a reason NOT to go ahead with it.
And then came the unexpected, unusual cold snap. (Stupid...fallout from some monumentally fierce Alaskan snowstorm...or whatever...) Anxiously keeping an watchful eye on the forecast in the week leading up to the race, I was...downright alarmed...by the overnight lows. (It didn't do anything for my peace of mind that our helpful weather station in the kitchen blinks a green warning light when it measures outside conditions around the 32* mark...thus it flashed threateningly at us all week long as we sat at the breakfast tablel and attempted--pretty unsuccessfully, I'd say--to ignore it...) Suddenly, 10:00 didn't sound so peachy after all; a couple more hours would be nice, to squeak out even a few more degrees of warmth before putting our feet on the pavement.
But truth be told, I'm pretty much speaking for myself, here. You see, I gave myself permission, right around the time Riley was born, if memory serves, to cease running activities during the Winter. I realized...I just don't LIKE to do it. The stiff muscles, the frosty air seeping into my lungs, the sweat chilling on my body, the icy breeze cutting right through to my skin--yeah, I basically detest all of that. (Hard-core, year-round runners will argue that if you wear the right gear, with wicking and insulating and blah blah blah, it's fine...but whatever, nothing can change the fact that you're still surrounded by...COLD. No, thank you...) Anyway, it was a life-changing moment when I had the following conversation with myself: "Hey, I'm an adult..no one can force me to run if I don't want to...so I'm just gonna hold out for Spring, boo yah!" (Or...something like that...)
From that transformative moment, my ground rule became "I'll run only on days when it's above 50*." And for many years, I stuck faithfully to that mantra...except now I'd paid for a race that happened to fall on a morning when the heartless numbers on the thermometer read 33*. So, dread it though I may, I mentally prepared to suck it up and get this thing done. Mostly, I kept reminding myself that at my normal pace, I finish 5Ks in about 29 minutes. So my perky inner cheerleader encouraged me along with the thought, "Less than a half-hour, and it'll be over! Easy peasy!" (Besides, I'm absolutely sure that no one has ever turned into a popsicle in that amount of time...) Then there was the minor matter of how to dress for this, since I don't have a lot of practice...or special outdoor Winter clothing, for that matter.
As I debated about what--and how many--layers to pile onto my person, Derek and Riley appeared, declaring themselves ready to go...in shorts...and light jackets. (Sigh. The scary thing is, I can't even debate this with them, as they are both exceptionally warm-blooded creatures. No idea where they got that particular trait from...) Thus outfitted, we made our way to the Starting Line. And you know what? It didn't feel nearly as bad as I'd feared it would. Sure, it was...brisk...but I think we were lucky that there was no wind whatsoever, so it actually felt pretty darn bearable. Waiting for the gun to signal the beginning of the race, I gave the boys my usual pep talk...which consists entirely of "See you at the Finish Line." Yeah, they're much faster than I am, so I generally wish them Godspeed and fortify myself for yet another solo jaunt.
As for the course itself, it was pleasantly scenic...if a bit HILLY...winding along nice neighborhood sidewalks and a paved wooded path. Once they took off in front of me, I never saw my sons again, as expected. So I chugged along on my own...surprised and glad that it actually felt...pretty okay. (Which, based on my low expectations before beginning, translates to "Wow! This is awesone!") At the blessed end, I reunited with Derek and Riley, who had come in a full 5 minutes before me, almost to the second. Yep, those two speed demons completed the 3.1 miles in...24 minutes. Good. Grief. This earned them 25th and 26th in the overall standings--which of course left them inordinately pleased with themselves. (I ended up 59th in the total field...obviously not winning any medals with that one, but still a perfectly respectable result, as far as I'm concerned.)
Well, there you have it. 3/4 of Team WestEnders conquered their first...Polar 5K. And now, we can close the book on another race season...hunker down indoors for the cold months to come...and look forward to getting back out there again in the (hopefully WARM) Spring of 2015!
This year, we managed to repeat the June Alex's Run, a couple of weeks before moving. (Actually, I did the 3.1 miles at 8 a.m. on a Sunday, then immediately got cleaned up and drove to NC, so I'd be ready to sign papers at the closing for our new house the next day...just to add to the excitement and all...) Then, after getting relocated and settled in, we found out about a 5K happening in our new neighborhood in September and signed up for it. So, having equalled our total from the previous year, we figured we were finished for 2014. But...nooooo. I saw advertisements for another nearby race...in November.
At first I thought, "November? Are they crazy? It'll be frigid!" But then I remembered...we're further south than we used to be...and the temperatures tend to hover around the "balmy" level for longer into the Fall than we're accustomed to...so it would probably be quite pleasant. Also, unlike the Summer runs, which take place early to beat the climbing mercury, this one would be held at the extremely civilized hour of: 10 a.m. We wouldn't even have to set an alarm! We could...eat breakfast! As a final positive, it was scheduled for the weekend after the soccer seasons wrapped up for both boys--so I couldn't honestly think of a reason NOT to go ahead with it.
And then came the unexpected, unusual cold snap. (Stupid...fallout from some monumentally fierce Alaskan snowstorm...or whatever...) Anxiously keeping an watchful eye on the forecast in the week leading up to the race, I was...downright alarmed...by the overnight lows. (It didn't do anything for my peace of mind that our helpful weather station in the kitchen blinks a green warning light when it measures outside conditions around the 32* mark...thus it flashed threateningly at us all week long as we sat at the breakfast tablel and attempted--pretty unsuccessfully, I'd say--to ignore it...) Suddenly, 10:00 didn't sound so peachy after all; a couple more hours would be nice, to squeak out even a few more degrees of warmth before putting our feet on the pavement.
But truth be told, I'm pretty much speaking for myself, here. You see, I gave myself permission, right around the time Riley was born, if memory serves, to cease running activities during the Winter. I realized...I just don't LIKE to do it. The stiff muscles, the frosty air seeping into my lungs, the sweat chilling on my body, the icy breeze cutting right through to my skin--yeah, I basically detest all of that. (Hard-core, year-round runners will argue that if you wear the right gear, with wicking and insulating and blah blah blah, it's fine...but whatever, nothing can change the fact that you're still surrounded by...COLD. No, thank you...) Anyway, it was a life-changing moment when I had the following conversation with myself: "Hey, I'm an adult..no one can force me to run if I don't want to...so I'm just gonna hold out for Spring, boo yah!" (Or...something like that...)
From that transformative moment, my ground rule became "I'll run only on days when it's above 50*." And for many years, I stuck faithfully to that mantra...except now I'd paid for a race that happened to fall on a morning when the heartless numbers on the thermometer read 33*. So, dread it though I may, I mentally prepared to suck it up and get this thing done. Mostly, I kept reminding myself that at my normal pace, I finish 5Ks in about 29 minutes. So my perky inner cheerleader encouraged me along with the thought, "Less than a half-hour, and it'll be over! Easy peasy!" (Besides, I'm absolutely sure that no one has ever turned into a popsicle in that amount of time...) Then there was the minor matter of how to dress for this, since I don't have a lot of practice...or special outdoor Winter clothing, for that matter.
As I debated about what--and how many--layers to pile onto my person, Derek and Riley appeared, declaring themselves ready to go...in shorts...and light jackets. (Sigh. The scary thing is, I can't even debate this with them, as they are both exceptionally warm-blooded creatures. No idea where they got that particular trait from...) Thus outfitted, we made our way to the Starting Line. And you know what? It didn't feel nearly as bad as I'd feared it would. Sure, it was...brisk...but I think we were lucky that there was no wind whatsoever, so it actually felt pretty darn bearable. Waiting for the gun to signal the beginning of the race, I gave the boys my usual pep talk...which consists entirely of "See you at the Finish Line." Yeah, they're much faster than I am, so I generally wish them Godspeed and fortify myself for yet another solo jaunt.
As for the course itself, it was pleasantly scenic...if a bit HILLY...winding along nice neighborhood sidewalks and a paved wooded path. Once they took off in front of me, I never saw my sons again, as expected. So I chugged along on my own...surprised and glad that it actually felt...pretty okay. (Which, based on my low expectations before beginning, translates to "Wow! This is awesone!") At the blessed end, I reunited with Derek and Riley, who had come in a full 5 minutes before me, almost to the second. Yep, those two speed demons completed the 3.1 miles in...24 minutes. Good. Grief. This earned them 25th and 26th in the overall standings--which of course left them inordinately pleased with themselves. (I ended up 59th in the total field...obviously not winning any medals with that one, but still a perfectly respectable result, as far as I'm concerned.)
Well, there you have it. 3/4 of Team WestEnders conquered their first...Polar 5K. And now, we can close the book on another race season...hunker down indoors for the cold months to come...and look forward to getting back out there again in the (hopefully WARM) Spring of 2015!
Saturday, November 15, 2014
a farce to be reckoned with (sorry!)
Ever since the boys were quite young, I've taken them to theater events. (Okay, I realize that sounds totally snooty, but I'm not talking about opera, here, so bear with me.) We started with little puppet shows, including ones at the historic Glen Echo park and the local Olney Theater Center. Honestly, although I don't recall a conscious thought process about it at the time, it probably had equally as much to do with teaching them about how to behave in a civilized way during a production...and grooming companions who could eventually accompany me to performances that I could appreciate when they got a bit older.
When Derek had proven himself ready for the next baby step, I took him to the Strathmore Concert Hall in Bethesda for a locally-produced version of Peter and the Wolf (which we both thoroughly enjoyed--WIN). Then came an opportunity I found impossible to pass up: The Lion King...at the Kennedy Center. Derek was only 7, but his mother had A) never been to that particular venue and B) always yearned to see Simba and company "live". Of course, it was utterly spellbinding, and a magical evening in every way. (Well...until it came time to navigate our way home from downtown D.C...that was more "nightmare" than anything else...but still...)
A few years later, when the OTC presented their annual Shakespeare on the Lawn, Husband and I decided it was high time to expose the boys to a taste of the Bard. (Yeah, having attended these events in the past, we knew it was all about "picnic on the grass while watching a FREE play", so even if the kids had protested, they would have been firmly voted down...) It turned out to be Romeo and Juliet with a totally modern interpretation--the party invites, for example, were sent by text message and posted on Social Media...hilarious. And finally, as we were fortunate enough to live only a few minutes away from our district's Drama Magnet High School, I dragged--um "offered the unique opportunity to"--my children to...High School Musical...I AND II...in the early, experimental days of their staging, before they became available nationwide for any old Drama Department to tackle.
Why the extended lead-in to today's tale? (Or...the ramblings of a writer without a point? Wait, I'm getting there, I promise!) Here it is: a friend of mine told me her daughter--who goes to that OTHER school across town--had a part in the Fall play...which was called...A Very Potter Musical. (Absolutely NOT making that up...how could I? It's...100% ridiculous!) When she casually mentioned this during conversation, I'm afraid I just sat there, gaping at her. Meanwhile, the internal monologue went something like this: "I'm sorry, what was that? Someone converted the beloved, iconic Harry Potter books into a play...and added...singing? How is something like that even allowed to transpire?" But although somewhat horrified on principle, I also found myself intrigued...against my better judgment. Therefore in the interest of supporting my pal's daughter--and satisfying my curiosity--I recruited my captive theater buddies once more.
And oh, the inspired silliness...the creative nonsense...the laugh-out-loud hysteria that ensued. Let's see, how to sum up such an adventure? Well, there was an incredibly big-headed, self-centered Harry, for starters. There was Albus Dumbledore portrayed as an aged, somewhat loopy hippie-type (not that hard to imagine, actually, although it had never occurred to me before...) Then, moving right along to the truly bizarre: a Draco Malfoy who spent a great deal of time throwing himself around on the floor, while pining over an unrequited crush on Hermione Granger, and oh yeah, blathering on about "that other, BETTER wizarding school I shall be transferring to next year...Pigfarts!" (Which is located, evidently, on Mars...just...I don't know...go with it...) Next imagine if you will (or...if you even CAN) Professor Quirrell and Voldemort as two actors back-to-back under one large robe...conversing...and duet-ing...and even tap dancing with each other. Oh. My. Goodness.
But my absolute personal favorite had to be Severus Snape--he who minced around the stage on tiptoes, constantly using his wand to flick his straight black hair out of his eyes, flamboyantly waving his arms about as he delivered his lines in a totally affected fake British accent. It was like...Monty Python-esque comic genius, I tell ya. Oh, and what about the PLOT, you ask? Seriously, you don't even want to get me started. The only thing I'll mention is that there was a recurring joke throughout the action about everyone being Zac Efron super-fans. In Dumbledore's office there was even a painting of said heartthrob...which as it happened, turned out to be the final Horcrux. So picture a dramatic scene, Harry and his friends in a tense standoff against Death Eaters--and Voldemort's face bursting through the canvas, cackling maniacally and threatening everyone's impending doom. Twisted, sure...absurd, definitely...but also kind of...freakin' brilliant.
Well, there you have it. Although the boys gave me a hard time beforehand for "forcing them to go", they agreed that it was soooooo very worth it in the end. After all, we had valuable Mother/Son Bonding time...at a free performance...which we enjoyed immensely. I'd have to call Operation Friday Night an unvarnished success! Now if you'll excuse me, I could use a refreshment...can anyone tell me where to get a Butterbeer?
When Derek had proven himself ready for the next baby step, I took him to the Strathmore Concert Hall in Bethesda for a locally-produced version of Peter and the Wolf (which we both thoroughly enjoyed--WIN). Then came an opportunity I found impossible to pass up: The Lion King...at the Kennedy Center. Derek was only 7, but his mother had A) never been to that particular venue and B) always yearned to see Simba and company "live". Of course, it was utterly spellbinding, and a magical evening in every way. (Well...until it came time to navigate our way home from downtown D.C...that was more "nightmare" than anything else...but still...)
A few years later, when the OTC presented their annual Shakespeare on the Lawn, Husband and I decided it was high time to expose the boys to a taste of the Bard. (Yeah, having attended these events in the past, we knew it was all about "picnic on the grass while watching a FREE play", so even if the kids had protested, they would have been firmly voted down...) It turned out to be Romeo and Juliet with a totally modern interpretation--the party invites, for example, were sent by text message and posted on Social Media...hilarious. And finally, as we were fortunate enough to live only a few minutes away from our district's Drama Magnet High School, I dragged--um "offered the unique opportunity to"--my children to...High School Musical...I AND II...in the early, experimental days of their staging, before they became available nationwide for any old Drama Department to tackle.
Why the extended lead-in to today's tale? (Or...the ramblings of a writer without a point? Wait, I'm getting there, I promise!) Here it is: a friend of mine told me her daughter--who goes to that OTHER school across town--had a part in the Fall play...which was called...A Very Potter Musical. (Absolutely NOT making that up...how could I? It's...100% ridiculous!) When she casually mentioned this during conversation, I'm afraid I just sat there, gaping at her. Meanwhile, the internal monologue went something like this: "I'm sorry, what was that? Someone converted the beloved, iconic Harry Potter books into a play...and added...singing? How is something like that even allowed to transpire?" But although somewhat horrified on principle, I also found myself intrigued...against my better judgment. Therefore in the interest of supporting my pal's daughter--and satisfying my curiosity--I recruited my captive theater buddies once more.
And oh, the inspired silliness...the creative nonsense...the laugh-out-loud hysteria that ensued. Let's see, how to sum up such an adventure? Well, there was an incredibly big-headed, self-centered Harry, for starters. There was Albus Dumbledore portrayed as an aged, somewhat loopy hippie-type (not that hard to imagine, actually, although it had never occurred to me before...) Then, moving right along to the truly bizarre: a Draco Malfoy who spent a great deal of time throwing himself around on the floor, while pining over an unrequited crush on Hermione Granger, and oh yeah, blathering on about "that other, BETTER wizarding school I shall be transferring to next year...Pigfarts!" (Which is located, evidently, on Mars...just...I don't know...go with it...) Next imagine if you will (or...if you even CAN) Professor Quirrell and Voldemort as two actors back-to-back under one large robe...conversing...and duet-ing...and even tap dancing with each other. Oh. My. Goodness.
But my absolute personal favorite had to be Severus Snape--he who minced around the stage on tiptoes, constantly using his wand to flick his straight black hair out of his eyes, flamboyantly waving his arms about as he delivered his lines in a totally affected fake British accent. It was like...Monty Python-esque comic genius, I tell ya. Oh, and what about the PLOT, you ask? Seriously, you don't even want to get me started. The only thing I'll mention is that there was a recurring joke throughout the action about everyone being Zac Efron super-fans. In Dumbledore's office there was even a painting of said heartthrob...which as it happened, turned out to be the final Horcrux. So picture a dramatic scene, Harry and his friends in a tense standoff against Death Eaters--and Voldemort's face bursting through the canvas, cackling maniacally and threatening everyone's impending doom. Twisted, sure...absurd, definitely...but also kind of...freakin' brilliant.
Well, there you have it. Although the boys gave me a hard time beforehand for "forcing them to go", they agreed that it was soooooo very worth it in the end. After all, we had valuable Mother/Son Bonding time...at a free performance...which we enjoyed immensely. I'd have to call Operation Friday Night an unvarnished success! Now if you'll excuse me, I could use a refreshment...can anyone tell me where to get a Butterbeer?
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Going it alone...temporarily!
So, Husband's gone again--wait, that makes it sound like he ran away from home, or something, so let me rephrase: Husband is out of town for a few days, on yet another business-related excursion. You see, when he got the green light from his employer to make the transition to a home-based setup, he expected to be summoned back to the Main Office about once a quarter, for face-to-face catching up, debriefing...and whatnot.
But this Fall has brought unusual demands, in terms of his presence being requested in Maryland. First there was some sort of "Rah Rah Meeting" (his words) in which the Big Brass gathered everyone for a State of the Union...um "company"...presentation. Then a few weeks later he was required to participate personally in a round of interviews, as his department tried to fill some vacancies to better handle the workload. In the midst of all this, he made two trips to his parents' house in South Carolina, since his father is experiencing some physical issues...which are directly impacting his mother's mental health, as she copes with the role of his sole caretaker most of the time. Finally, this most recent jaunt involves a professional seminar his boss wants him to attend, for the purpose of becoming educated about some sort of software he'll be using...or his clients will...or some such nonsense...I confess that it all got sort of fuzzy after the words "I'll be traveling again--blah blah blah."
And honestly, although Husband seems to feel guilty every time he has to fly the coop (hmm...too reminiscent of a criminal on the lam? Then let's go with "pack up and leave") and apologizes profusely for doing so...it's not that big a deal. I mean sure, single parenting isn't exactly what I'd call a picnic-type-situation. But the boys are old enough now that they're getting more self-sufficient all the time. They don't need 24/7 attention, hands-on care, or support anymore. Really, the biggest challenge we face when trying to navigate Life With Just Mom is: how on Earth to shuttle each of them to their respective soccer practices (same day, 2 different parks, 2 overlapping times). Oh, and of course: "what the HECK am I going to feed them for dinner?"
Fortunately, their coaches (one of whom is, well...Husband) are dads themselves, and therefore understanding and tolerant toward the inevitable Schedule Snafus that occur whenever multiple kids need to be taxied from one place to another. Also my sons--bless their little pea pickin' hearts--are completely unfussy when it comes to meals. As long as there is sufficient food in front of them and it's something they like to eat (which encompasses...pretty darn much everything...), they truly couldn't care less whether it's fancy...or hot...or even "cooked", for that matter. (Yep, I can tell you that tuna subs, apple slices, baby carrots, and Sun Chips have been offered for more than one evening repast...with no complaints whatsoever...)
However, sometimes when my beloved offspring come to me seeking guidance or assistance...again...and I'm the only one here...it causes me to to dearly miss the ability to duck my responsibilities--I mean "provide Husband the opportunity to bond with his children." Yeah, in a nutshell, I'm talking about the time-honored..."Go Ask Your Father" cop-out that's unavailable to me at these times. For instance, when Riley brought his Science Review Sheet to me last night and complained, "How should I know the atomic number of Nitrogen?" My immediate response--at least in my head--was, "I think the real question here is: How is MOM supposed to know? I mean, do I LOOK like Bill Nye to you?" Yes, this would have been a classic spot to send him off to Dad...the one with the Biology degree. Because it wouldn't surprise me at all if he spit out the answer immediately, right off the top of his head. Me? I went with the most trusted Fountain of All Knowledge...that's right: Google to the rescue once more.
And when Derek wanted to vent about his Math homework--"We have a test on imaginary numbers, and I'm gonna fail it. Why do we have to learn about numbers that don't even frickin' EXIST?" Hold on, I've got this one..."Go ask your...oops, never mind. Um...I'm sure it'll be fine, sweetie. Just...oh, forget it, I got nothin'. Do the best you can on the exam, and then--unless you have some dubious secret plan to become an Astrophysicist or something--I promise you can put imaginary numbers out of your mind forever, okay? Now please go away, because Mom desperately needs some quiet time with a cup of tea and some light fiction." (The Mother of the Year Committee will give me a free pass for this week, given the circumstances, right? Ha!)
So, that's what happens around here when Husband is in absentia. I'd say that for the most part it's pretty much under control. But SHHHHH! You're absolutely sworn to secrecy about that! When he returns from his latest mandatory getaway--in Florida, by the way, at some swanky hotel--he'll be ever-so-willing to make it up to me...I do believe a Spa Retreat would fit the bill nicely, wouldn't you say? I'd bet you any number of imaginary dollars or amount of Au on the periodic table that I deserve it!
But this Fall has brought unusual demands, in terms of his presence being requested in Maryland. First there was some sort of "Rah Rah Meeting" (his words) in which the Big Brass gathered everyone for a State of the Union...um "company"...presentation. Then a few weeks later he was required to participate personally in a round of interviews, as his department tried to fill some vacancies to better handle the workload. In the midst of all this, he made two trips to his parents' house in South Carolina, since his father is experiencing some physical issues...which are directly impacting his mother's mental health, as she copes with the role of his sole caretaker most of the time. Finally, this most recent jaunt involves a professional seminar his boss wants him to attend, for the purpose of becoming educated about some sort of software he'll be using...or his clients will...or some such nonsense...I confess that it all got sort of fuzzy after the words "I'll be traveling again--blah blah blah."
And honestly, although Husband seems to feel guilty every time he has to fly the coop (hmm...too reminiscent of a criminal on the lam? Then let's go with "pack up and leave") and apologizes profusely for doing so...it's not that big a deal. I mean sure, single parenting isn't exactly what I'd call a picnic-type-situation. But the boys are old enough now that they're getting more self-sufficient all the time. They don't need 24/7 attention, hands-on care, or support anymore. Really, the biggest challenge we face when trying to navigate Life With Just Mom is: how on Earth to shuttle each of them to their respective soccer practices (same day, 2 different parks, 2 overlapping times). Oh, and of course: "what the HECK am I going to feed them for dinner?"
Fortunately, their coaches (one of whom is, well...Husband) are dads themselves, and therefore understanding and tolerant toward the inevitable Schedule Snafus that occur whenever multiple kids need to be taxied from one place to another. Also my sons--bless their little pea pickin' hearts--are completely unfussy when it comes to meals. As long as there is sufficient food in front of them and it's something they like to eat (which encompasses...pretty darn much everything...), they truly couldn't care less whether it's fancy...or hot...or even "cooked", for that matter. (Yep, I can tell you that tuna subs, apple slices, baby carrots, and Sun Chips have been offered for more than one evening repast...with no complaints whatsoever...)
However, sometimes when my beloved offspring come to me seeking guidance or assistance...again...and I'm the only one here...it causes me to to dearly miss the ability to duck my responsibilities--I mean "provide Husband the opportunity to bond with his children." Yeah, in a nutshell, I'm talking about the time-honored..."Go Ask Your Father" cop-out that's unavailable to me at these times. For instance, when Riley brought his Science Review Sheet to me last night and complained, "How should I know the atomic number of Nitrogen?" My immediate response--at least in my head--was, "I think the real question here is: How is MOM supposed to know? I mean, do I LOOK like Bill Nye to you?" Yes, this would have been a classic spot to send him off to Dad...the one with the Biology degree. Because it wouldn't surprise me at all if he spit out the answer immediately, right off the top of his head. Me? I went with the most trusted Fountain of All Knowledge...that's right: Google to the rescue once more.
And when Derek wanted to vent about his Math homework--"We have a test on imaginary numbers, and I'm gonna fail it. Why do we have to learn about numbers that don't even frickin' EXIST?" Hold on, I've got this one..."Go ask your...oops, never mind. Um...I'm sure it'll be fine, sweetie. Just...oh, forget it, I got nothin'. Do the best you can on the exam, and then--unless you have some dubious secret plan to become an Astrophysicist or something--I promise you can put imaginary numbers out of your mind forever, okay? Now please go away, because Mom desperately needs some quiet time with a cup of tea and some light fiction." (The Mother of the Year Committee will give me a free pass for this week, given the circumstances, right? Ha!)
So, that's what happens around here when Husband is in absentia. I'd say that for the most part it's pretty much under control. But SHHHHH! You're absolutely sworn to secrecy about that! When he returns from his latest mandatory getaway--in Florida, by the way, at some swanky hotel--he'll be ever-so-willing to make it up to me...I do believe a Spa Retreat would fit the bill nicely, wouldn't you say? I'd bet you any number of imaginary dollars or amount of Au on the periodic table that I deserve it!
Friday, November 7, 2014
Reptiles 'R Us?
So, I'm still getting used to the new, um, "wildlife scenario" in NC. I mean, it's obviously not that Team WestEnders is unaccustomed to nature, or anything, having previously resided in a neighborhood that we thought of at the time as pretty much our own Wild Kingdom. We used to enjoy observing the deer, foxes, groundhogs, hawks--and various run-of-the-mill squirrels, chipmunks, etc.--outside on our lawn. In contrast, here the animal pool seems to contain roving hordes of Bambis, some hawks, at least one owl (which is elusive, but I know it's there from the distinctive hooting and shrieking noises it makes while presumably hunting the aforementioned rodent-snacks), the rumor of coyotes (as yet unconfirmed by sight or sound, but reported as true by longer-term residents) ...plus snakes. That's right: plural, apparently.
First there was the gigantic black individual we saw using our back yard as a convenient, cozy sunning spot last month. That was slightly horrifying, as it appeared theoretically large enough to eat...well...ME...if it so desired. But according to some academic research...um "posting it on Facebook and inviting comments"...it was a harmless variety (to humans, anyway) who would happily munch on bunnies or similarly-sized furry treats. Then today, while I was attempting to make some headway on clearing the mounds of leaves blanketing our yard several inches deep (lovely trees--darn shedding problem!) I uncovered something small and sinuous. Its white belly was facing up towards me, and my initial impression was, "Ew, that's a really big earthworm." But something about it struck me as odd, so I bent closer to get a better view and decided, "Um...or rather, a very tiny snake."
Since it hadn't moved so much as a millimeter during my inspection, I took my time deciding how to deal with it. Eventually I grabbed a stick, hooked it under a coiled section, and carried it casually toward the driveway. Meanwhile Husband, returning from an errand, drove up to the sight of me parading toward him, dangling an unidentified object from a twig. When he got close enough, I held it out to the car window for his perusal. "Wow, that's a very big worm...." (He began slowly, then trailed off as understanding dawned.) "Wait a minute, is that a snake?" "Yep!" I replied proudly--you know, as if I'd just wrangled an adult...boa constrictor...single-handedly preserving the safety of our back yard for all of humanity. Lest he worry unduly, I hastened to add reassuringly, "But I think it's dead." ('Cuz, well, I AM the reigning resident Reptile Tamer, I should know...)
He shot me an incredulous glance and said, "I don't...think so...it's tongue is flicking in and out." Wait, WHAAAAT? You see, now that he/she/it/whatever had been whisked out from under the cold, wet pile of leaves where it had been snoozing, and exposed to the sunshine, the cold-blooded creature was...waking up...and therefore becoming more lively. And here I was, obliviously carting it around like some kind of...Snake Taxi, delivering it to a nice, warm environment where it could get up to all kinds of...I don't know,"slithery hijinks", or some such nonsense. Suddenly it seemed like a reeeaally brilliant idea to thrust my arm out to its full length (honestly not a big difference...but somewhat psychologically comforting, at least) thereby marginally increasing the distance between the reptile and myself. It simultaneously occurred to me that I should make it crystal clear to Husband, "Here! This is now YOUR responsibility!" as I waved the branch firmly in his general direction.
Wisely choosing to recognize the authority of the Reptile Tamer, he quickly parked the car and returned to handle the situation. Basically, I passed off the--honestly very docile and non-threatening --snake-on-a-stick and backed up a few steps as we deliberated how to resolve the issue. Originally, I was planning to place it (that is, when I thought it was deceased) near the front porch (Ha! Great idea, right? Shudder...) to show the boys when they came home from school. However, there was another complication (I mean, besides it being "not dead"): this particular specimen had brown markings...and we didn't know what that meant in terms of venom...osity. (Yeah, in my role as the R.T., I'm totally allowed to invent words.) So we agreed that it was best to "relocate" our new little friend to the woods across the street....you know, "for his own good"...and whatnot. (Hey, I think you'll have to agree it's much kinder and gentler than the alternative: "Back over it with the Subaru", right?)
As Husband prepared to do just that, I cried, "Hold on! Let me take a picture!" (Oh my goodness, what a surprise! Said absolutely no one...) Thus he patiently stood there a moment longer while I snapped a farewell close-up of the little guy...who by then had regained enough energy...to wiggle himself off of his perch...and plop onto the driveway. What ensued was a hilarious (okay, for ME) 3 minutes or so of Husband struggling to herd the recalcitrant reptile back onto the twig and march him over to his new home. Ah, good times. Naturally I then went straight to the Internet to Google "brown snakes that live in central NC" and God bless the all-knowing search engine, it came through, as usual. It turns out that our backyard denizen is called (wait for it) a "brown snake". Nope, not kidding about that. They grow to a maximum of less than 2 feet, and eat slugs, earthworms, and snails (most importantly: NOT US). Completely harmless, no worries.
Make no mistake, I'm still going to retain my hard-earned title. But...maybe I'll delegate the raking to my R.T. assistants--ahem..."sons"--for a while!
First there was the gigantic black individual we saw using our back yard as a convenient, cozy sunning spot last month. That was slightly horrifying, as it appeared theoretically large enough to eat...well...ME...if it so desired. But according to some academic research...um "posting it on Facebook and inviting comments"...it was a harmless variety (to humans, anyway) who would happily munch on bunnies or similarly-sized furry treats. Then today, while I was attempting to make some headway on clearing the mounds of leaves blanketing our yard several inches deep (lovely trees--darn shedding problem!) I uncovered something small and sinuous. Its white belly was facing up towards me, and my initial impression was, "Ew, that's a really big earthworm." But something about it struck me as odd, so I bent closer to get a better view and decided, "Um...or rather, a very tiny snake."
Since it hadn't moved so much as a millimeter during my inspection, I took my time deciding how to deal with it. Eventually I grabbed a stick, hooked it under a coiled section, and carried it casually toward the driveway. Meanwhile Husband, returning from an errand, drove up to the sight of me parading toward him, dangling an unidentified object from a twig. When he got close enough, I held it out to the car window for his perusal. "Wow, that's a very big worm...." (He began slowly, then trailed off as understanding dawned.) "Wait a minute, is that a snake?" "Yep!" I replied proudly--you know, as if I'd just wrangled an adult...boa constrictor...single-handedly preserving the safety of our back yard for all of humanity. Lest he worry unduly, I hastened to add reassuringly, "But I think it's dead." ('Cuz, well, I AM the reigning resident Reptile Tamer, I should know...)
He shot me an incredulous glance and said, "I don't...think so...it's tongue is flicking in and out." Wait, WHAAAAT? You see, now that he/she/it/whatever had been whisked out from under the cold, wet pile of leaves where it had been snoozing, and exposed to the sunshine, the cold-blooded creature was...waking up...and therefore becoming more lively. And here I was, obliviously carting it around like some kind of...Snake Taxi, delivering it to a nice, warm environment where it could get up to all kinds of...I don't know,"slithery hijinks", or some such nonsense. Suddenly it seemed like a reeeaally brilliant idea to thrust my arm out to its full length (honestly not a big difference...but somewhat psychologically comforting, at least) thereby marginally increasing the distance between the reptile and myself. It simultaneously occurred to me that I should make it crystal clear to Husband, "Here! This is now YOUR responsibility!" as I waved the branch firmly in his general direction.
Wisely choosing to recognize the authority of the Reptile Tamer, he quickly parked the car and returned to handle the situation. Basically, I passed off the--honestly very docile and non-threatening --snake-on-a-stick and backed up a few steps as we deliberated how to resolve the issue. Originally, I was planning to place it (that is, when I thought it was deceased) near the front porch (Ha! Great idea, right? Shudder...) to show the boys when they came home from school. However, there was another complication (I mean, besides it being "not dead"): this particular specimen had brown markings...and we didn't know what that meant in terms of venom...osity. (Yeah, in my role as the R.T., I'm totally allowed to invent words.) So we agreed that it was best to "relocate" our new little friend to the woods across the street....you know, "for his own good"...and whatnot. (Hey, I think you'll have to agree it's much kinder and gentler than the alternative: "Back over it with the Subaru", right?)
As Husband prepared to do just that, I cried, "Hold on! Let me take a picture!" (Oh my goodness, what a surprise! Said absolutely no one...) Thus he patiently stood there a moment longer while I snapped a farewell close-up of the little guy...who by then had regained enough energy...to wiggle himself off of his perch...and plop onto the driveway. What ensued was a hilarious (okay, for ME) 3 minutes or so of Husband struggling to herd the recalcitrant reptile back onto the twig and march him over to his new home. Ah, good times. Naturally I then went straight to the Internet to Google "brown snakes that live in central NC" and God bless the all-knowing search engine, it came through, as usual. It turns out that our backyard denizen is called (wait for it) a "brown snake". Nope, not kidding about that. They grow to a maximum of less than 2 feet, and eat slugs, earthworms, and snails (most importantly: NOT US). Completely harmless, no worries.
 |
| And...Snake #2! |
Make no mistake, I'm still going to retain my hard-earned title. But...maybe I'll delegate the raking to my R.T. assistants--ahem..."sons"--for a while!
 |
| Snake #1 |
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Well...The Intentions Were Good...
There's a cartoon called Zits--depicting the interactions between a teenage boy and his parents--that never fails to crack this family up. Jeremy, the son, burns the midnight oil, sleeps 'til all hours, eats whatever he can get his hands on, lives in a pigsty of a bedroom, and often communicates in non-verbal grunts. One of the reasons we all find this hilarious is how polar opposite the comic-strip adolescent is, compared to Derek. (Well, except the "ravaging the refrigerator" part.) Specifically, I love that my high schooler will still wander into my room and flop himself down onto my bed...just to chat. Most of the time it's about mundane stuff--something one of his friends did during lunch, or the latest baseball news, or an upcoming assignment. But other times...let's just say that things can go off the rails in a hurry.
For example, last night's conversation began in the usual way. He brought the latest draft of his speech for English class in, to show me how much he'd written. The topic he chose is Cy Young (which should surprise...absolutely no one). So he asked me--kind of out of the blue--if there were any famous sports figures born in Baltimore. "Um...Babe Ruth!" I answered in a 'you should reeeaaaly know this' tone of voice. At least he had the sense to appear sheepish as he replied, "Really? Huh, I just always wrote him off as a Yankee." (And it should be noted that the amount of scorn and contempt he was able to infuse into this last word made it as powerfully insulting as if he'd said something with 4 letters. Sniff...I'm so proud...) After that, I had to wrack my brains for another example. Tentatively I offered, "Isn't...Michael Phelps from Baltimore?" He nodded, "Yeah, that sounds right."
All of this was refreshingly light and normal, right? But then I had to go and take it to another level. Without considering the consequences, I continued voicing what I was thinking. (Seriously? Like I don't know better? My internal filter must have somehow gotten turned off...) "However, he's not exactly a shining example of a role model right now, what with his latest DUI arrest and checking himself into rehab." Derek looked at me quizzically, so I continued, "It's such a shame for a phenomenally gifted, talented athlete to jeopardize their career--and their life--with alcohol and/or drugs." In the interest of fairness, I hastened to add, "Although alcoholism is an actual disease, and it's been scientifically proven that some people have a genetic tendency toward an addictive personality...so it's a good thing he's getting help."
Oh, what the heck...since this had clearly turned into an opportunity for a lecture--um "informational seminar"--on the dangers of controlled substances (both legal and prohibited), I forged ahead and explained a little bit about what rehab programs try to accomplish, with detoxing, counseling, education, establishing healthy new patterns, etc. It seemed like he was hanging with me on all the technical points, and he didn't appear glazed, twitchy, or ready to bolt, so I took that as a good sign. In what I planned to be kind of a wrap-up statement I added, "But even when people come out of the program, it's a lifelong commitment to stay away from whatever your drug of choice was, because people who are truly addicted can't touch their particular poison without falling back into bad habits. So they also have a sponsor to support them."
At this very serious pronouncement...his mouth fell open and he burst into hysterical, inappropriate laughter. Excuse me...what just happened? "A sponsor?" he sputtered. "Like...Subway goes...'Hey, this guy can drink a ton and still drive, let's give him a contract!'?" Oh. Dear. Always with the sports references at the uppermost, frontal portion of the brain. And on top of that, can I just say that someone obviously watches waaaaaayyy too much ESPN. Noooo, dear, not THAT kind of sponsor...in fact, why don't we just use the word 'mentor' instead. Sigh. And with that, the serious...sober, if you will...portion of our little Mother/Son bonding talk was O-V-E-R. So...moving right along to safer ground...how about those Gold Glove awards, yeah?
For example, last night's conversation began in the usual way. He brought the latest draft of his speech for English class in, to show me how much he'd written. The topic he chose is Cy Young (which should surprise...absolutely no one). So he asked me--kind of out of the blue--if there were any famous sports figures born in Baltimore. "Um...Babe Ruth!" I answered in a 'you should reeeaaaly know this' tone of voice. At least he had the sense to appear sheepish as he replied, "Really? Huh, I just always wrote him off as a Yankee." (And it should be noted that the amount of scorn and contempt he was able to infuse into this last word made it as powerfully insulting as if he'd said something with 4 letters. Sniff...I'm so proud...) After that, I had to wrack my brains for another example. Tentatively I offered, "Isn't...Michael Phelps from Baltimore?" He nodded, "Yeah, that sounds right."
All of this was refreshingly light and normal, right? But then I had to go and take it to another level. Without considering the consequences, I continued voicing what I was thinking. (Seriously? Like I don't know better? My internal filter must have somehow gotten turned off...) "However, he's not exactly a shining example of a role model right now, what with his latest DUI arrest and checking himself into rehab." Derek looked at me quizzically, so I continued, "It's such a shame for a phenomenally gifted, talented athlete to jeopardize their career--and their life--with alcohol and/or drugs." In the interest of fairness, I hastened to add, "Although alcoholism is an actual disease, and it's been scientifically proven that some people have a genetic tendency toward an addictive personality...so it's a good thing he's getting help."
Oh, what the heck...since this had clearly turned into an opportunity for a lecture--um "informational seminar"--on the dangers of controlled substances (both legal and prohibited), I forged ahead and explained a little bit about what rehab programs try to accomplish, with detoxing, counseling, education, establishing healthy new patterns, etc. It seemed like he was hanging with me on all the technical points, and he didn't appear glazed, twitchy, or ready to bolt, so I took that as a good sign. In what I planned to be kind of a wrap-up statement I added, "But even when people come out of the program, it's a lifelong commitment to stay away from whatever your drug of choice was, because people who are truly addicted can't touch their particular poison without falling back into bad habits. So they also have a sponsor to support them."
At this very serious pronouncement...his mouth fell open and he burst into hysterical, inappropriate laughter. Excuse me...what just happened? "A sponsor?" he sputtered. "Like...Subway goes...'Hey, this guy can drink a ton and still drive, let's give him a contract!'?" Oh. Dear. Always with the sports references at the uppermost, frontal portion of the brain. And on top of that, can I just say that someone obviously watches waaaaaayyy too much ESPN. Noooo, dear, not THAT kind of sponsor...in fact, why don't we just use the word 'mentor' instead. Sigh. And with that, the serious...sober, if you will...portion of our little Mother/Son bonding talk was O-V-E-R. So...moving right along to safer ground...how about those Gold Glove awards, yeah?
Sunday, November 2, 2014
October...fest
October has traditionally been one of my favorite months--the weather turns cooler and crisper, the leaves start slipping into their Fall hues, pumpkin-flavored delights abound in the stores and restaurants...and then there's always Candy Day (um..."Halloween") to anticipate. This was our first October in NC, and the month just seemed to pick up steam as it rolled along. Some of the highlights:
--We attended our first Neighborhood Picnic. And I don't just mean the first one HERE--the first one EVER. In our previous location, we weren't actually in a "neighborhood" per se, and there was no Homeowners' Association to throw these kinds of shindigs. So it was an exciting "meet the street" kind of opportunity for us...well, mostly for yours truly. You see, the boys already had friends, from school and soccer, of course. And Husband is a very...shall we say "outgoing"...individual, so he had made a point to stop and talk to people any time he was wandering the area on foot. Me? I felt more comfortable waiting for the Official Social Gathering to introduce myself, rather than...accosting people in their driveways. So now at least I know the folks in my immediate vicinity...it's a start!
--The first marking period came to a close for my Middle and High Schoolers. And all I have to say about that is: 1 down, 3 to go! No, that wasn't it...oh yeah, what I meant was: after all the angst about the 7-point grading scale, and getting Derek's classes right, and some early difficulties with the High School Math and Spanish curriculums...I'm pleased to report that it all worked out fine, grade-wise. (And you'll note that all of that had to do with the 9th grader...so far 6th grade has been a relative breeze....knocking on wood...) So, bring on quarter 2!
--Then there's that sweet holiday to close out the altogether festive month. I noticed at the very beginning of October that decorations started appearing on houses and in yards. It quickly became apparent that people put in a great deal of effort to celebrate Halloween around here. In Maryland, I used to have some lights that I would use on the porch...but I eventually stopped, because we lived at the end of a loooong cul-de-sac, and our trick-or-treat visitation level was somewhat...pathetic. Basically, the only kids who would venture all the way down to our house were those who lived further up the same road, and knew us personally. But in our new neighborhood, I expected big things--maybe even...(dare I hope?) crowds of revelers!
So, inspired by my absolute favorite dressed-up house--the one with inflatable eyeballs hanging in a tree, a gigantic blowup spider whose head actually moves side-to-side, and the absolute crowning touch...skeletons driving the ancient VW bus they have permanently parked next to the garage...and all of it lit with colored, flashing strobe lights--I decided to at least do a little something to get in the spirit. (Ha! I promise, for once the pun was unintentional.) Thus we ended up with a glowing spiderweb above the front door, strings of bat-and-mummy-shaped lights, a tombstone on the porch, and not one, but FOUR pumpkins on the steps. Satisfied with my design, I then proceeded to buy the jumbo bag of assorted candy bars from Costco, and await the celebrants.
Meanwhile, we had a different situation on our hands--Riley requested to go out trick-or-treating with a group of his classmates. What's so odd about that? Nothing...except that neither of the boys has bothered to go door-to-door for YEARS. But I supposed there's something about the irresistible lure of a pack of...11-year olds...that sucked him in. So I drove him over to his friend's house--HQ for Operation Sugar--and...set him loose on their neighborhood. Then it was back to Casa WestEnders to prepare for our own visitors...and they came! We actually got to enjoy some clever costumes, give away handfuls of candy, and totally get caught up in the atmosphere of Halloween fun--highly satisfactory.
Finally, to round out what had already been an enjoyable evening, the family across the street was throwing a party--adults and kids all invited. (In fact, it represented our very first...Evite...in Chapel Hill : ) Leaving the remainder of the sweets on the porch with a note to "help yourself", we headed over to the fiesta on foot....with our brand new next-door couple, who had literally just moved in a few days prior. Husband took it upon himself to include them, since they hadn't been here in time to receive the electronic summons. (And, well, that's just Husband...did I mention he was quite the gregarious individual?) Anyway, they showed up to accompany us, offering plastic glasses of wine for the trek. (Oh yeah, we like them already!) Immediately the boys disappeared with their buddies--showing up periodically to grab food or a beverage, so we at least knew they were still there. And after that, there were just hours and hours of more people to meet and chat with, much laughter...refills of wine...etc.
Well, there were always reasons to feel fond of October, but I think this most recent one has to be considered even more awesome than the norm. And from here, of course it only gets better, as we can now officially start counting down to Turkey (Tofurkey?) Day. Okay, November, you've been issued a challenge: just do your best to try and top the 10th month...go!
--We attended our first Neighborhood Picnic. And I don't just mean the first one HERE--the first one EVER. In our previous location, we weren't actually in a "neighborhood" per se, and there was no Homeowners' Association to throw these kinds of shindigs. So it was an exciting "meet the street" kind of opportunity for us...well, mostly for yours truly. You see, the boys already had friends, from school and soccer, of course. And Husband is a very...shall we say "outgoing"...individual, so he had made a point to stop and talk to people any time he was wandering the area on foot. Me? I felt more comfortable waiting for the Official Social Gathering to introduce myself, rather than...accosting people in their driveways. So now at least I know the folks in my immediate vicinity...it's a start!
--The first marking period came to a close for my Middle and High Schoolers. And all I have to say about that is: 1 down, 3 to go! No, that wasn't it...oh yeah, what I meant was: after all the angst about the 7-point grading scale, and getting Derek's classes right, and some early difficulties with the High School Math and Spanish curriculums...I'm pleased to report that it all worked out fine, grade-wise. (And you'll note that all of that had to do with the 9th grader...so far 6th grade has been a relative breeze....knocking on wood...) So, bring on quarter 2!
--Then there's that sweet holiday to close out the altogether festive month. I noticed at the very beginning of October that decorations started appearing on houses and in yards. It quickly became apparent that people put in a great deal of effort to celebrate Halloween around here. In Maryland, I used to have some lights that I would use on the porch...but I eventually stopped, because we lived at the end of a loooong cul-de-sac, and our trick-or-treat visitation level was somewhat...pathetic. Basically, the only kids who would venture all the way down to our house were those who lived further up the same road, and knew us personally. But in our new neighborhood, I expected big things--maybe even...(dare I hope?) crowds of revelers!
So, inspired by my absolute favorite dressed-up house--the one with inflatable eyeballs hanging in a tree, a gigantic blowup spider whose head actually moves side-to-side, and the absolute crowning touch...skeletons driving the ancient VW bus they have permanently parked next to the garage...and all of it lit with colored, flashing strobe lights--I decided to at least do a little something to get in the spirit. (Ha! I promise, for once the pun was unintentional.) Thus we ended up with a glowing spiderweb above the front door, strings of bat-and-mummy-shaped lights, a tombstone on the porch, and not one, but FOUR pumpkins on the steps. Satisfied with my design, I then proceeded to buy the jumbo bag of assorted candy bars from Costco, and await the celebrants.
Meanwhile, we had a different situation on our hands--Riley requested to go out trick-or-treating with a group of his classmates. What's so odd about that? Nothing...except that neither of the boys has bothered to go door-to-door for YEARS. But I supposed there's something about the irresistible lure of a pack of...11-year olds...that sucked him in. So I drove him over to his friend's house--HQ for Operation Sugar--and...set him loose on their neighborhood. Then it was back to Casa WestEnders to prepare for our own visitors...and they came! We actually got to enjoy some clever costumes, give away handfuls of candy, and totally get caught up in the atmosphere of Halloween fun--highly satisfactory.
Finally, to round out what had already been an enjoyable evening, the family across the street was throwing a party--adults and kids all invited. (In fact, it represented our very first...Evite...in Chapel Hill : ) Leaving the remainder of the sweets on the porch with a note to "help yourself", we headed over to the fiesta on foot....with our brand new next-door couple, who had literally just moved in a few days prior. Husband took it upon himself to include them, since they hadn't been here in time to receive the electronic summons. (And, well, that's just Husband...did I mention he was quite the gregarious individual?) Anyway, they showed up to accompany us, offering plastic glasses of wine for the trek. (Oh yeah, we like them already!) Immediately the boys disappeared with their buddies--showing up periodically to grab food or a beverage, so we at least knew they were still there. And after that, there were just hours and hours of more people to meet and chat with, much laughter...refills of wine...etc.
Well, there were always reasons to feel fond of October, but I think this most recent one has to be considered even more awesome than the norm. And from here, of course it only gets better, as we can now officially start counting down to Turkey (Tofurkey?) Day. Okay, November, you've been issued a challenge: just do your best to try and top the 10th month...go!
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