On Thursday morning, we needed to collect the the garbage from various wastebaskets in the house, to put it out by the curb for collection. Riley had already gone off to school, so the task fell to Derek. I was checking emails on my laptop while enjoying my morning java jolt...when suddenly my peaceful interlude was shattered by a tremendous...disturbance. There were a couple of disconcerting thumps, then a resounding crash...followed by profound silence. The initial noise was loud enough to make me jump, and sufficiently alarming to cause a reflexive wince. Really, it was precisely the kind of scenario where, as a mother, you instantly leap to imagining the worst...like "my kid is lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs...probably bleeding...possibly with a head injury...and can't move or even yell for help."
This all flashed through my mind in the space of no more than a couple of racing heartbeats, before the almost unbearable tension was broken by...my son's hysterical...laughter. I released the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, and steeled myself to go survey the damage. First I called out, "Um...Derek? You all right in there?" He came skidding around the corner, still chuckling, and said, "Guess what happened? I fell down the stairs!" I stared at him in confusion...he looked far too cheerful for this to have occurred, his wide grin strangely incongruous to the situation at hand. "Oh-kaaaayyy..." I began, unsure of how, exactly, to proceed.
Fortunately he spared me the difficulty of trying to figure out what to say next, as he continued, "Yeah, I tripped, and slid down a few steps...and because my hands were full I couldn't catch myself....but the trash came flying out all over the floor....so you probably don't want to go in there right now." He added as an afterthought, "I'm allowed to use the Dustbuster, right?" When I nodded, bemused, he trotted off in the direction of his man-made disaster, presumably to clean up. Meanwhile I went back to my own pursuits, marveling at some of the contradictions evident in this family tableau. The first thing that springs to mind is that on the soccer field Derek lopes across the grass like some kind of...hybrid human/gazelle creature...graceful, fleet, and strong. Yet put those Size 11 feet inside the confines of 4 walls...and stand back. (No, really, the safest place to be is WELL out of the way, sometimes...)
Now, one reason this whole goofy event amused me so much is that it showcased some of the personality traits my older son and I do NOT share. For example, had this been me, my immediate reaction would have been an exasperated/annoyed inner monologue, something along the lines of "Oh, nice job, you clumsy oaf," while glaring at the mess I'd caused and grousing under my breath the entire time I had to devote to putting things right. So I have always admired Derek's ability to just...rolls with things, and not take anything--including himself--too seriously.
Which brings me to a contrasting tale, regarding my younger son. The other night he came to find me, ostensibly to consult on his homework, but with an unexpectedly upset look on his face. In fact, when I peered at him more closely, he seemed almost on the verge of tears. He explained that he was supposed to create a poem about himself to share with the class, and was having some trouble with the wording. "Of course, honey, I'd love to help you with that," I assured him, still wondering what was up with the sad vibe I was getting. Then I read what he he had written in the section where he was directed to describe "hardships or challenges" he'd faced in his life. Basically, he had chosen to express how he was struggling with the fact that he was afraid he wasn't...what his parents wanted him to be.
I'm sorry, whaaaaat? Completely flummoxed as to where this was coming from, I asked him why he felt this way. And then the sobbing commenced. Now I was tempted to join right in along with him. Feeling like the Worst. Mother. Ever...I finally managed to get him to elaborate, and it turns out this all stemmed from me scheduling a recent meeting with his Middle School teachers. I requested the conference because, since we moved in from out-of-state, I wanted to touch base with his team of instructors, to make sure at this point that we're all on the same page about the level of challenging work Riley needs to be receiving. Apparently Riley took this to mean that he's not living up to our expectations, because he's not already in the Gifted Program/Advanced Math/what have you.
Now that I understood what the HECK was going on in that deep brain of his, I could respond effectively and compassionately...Dude! That is soooooo not what we're thinking at ALL! I hastened to add all of the important stuff: you're doing great, we're proud of you, we just want your teachers to give you challenges appropriate for your abilities, blah blah blah. But then it hit me like a foul ball right between the eyes...hmm, let's see...perfectionist...who's never quite sure he's performing well enough to satisfy expectations...not 100% comfortable with whether what he's produced is of adequate quality. Huh. Well, hello, my little "pot"...it's your mother...."kettle". Siiiighhhh.
Anyway, after we got that little bit of...emotional turmoil...cleared up--and revised the affected portion of his composition--all seemed to be well. Except now I'm worried that I'm ruining my kids--I mean, clearly I didn't teach Derek to navigate a staircase properly...and I'm stressing Riley out somehow by transmitting the idea that he's a high-achiever who can handle harder schoolwork...Okay, that's it, I'm retreating to my office with a mug of tea and a good book. I'm declaring that Mom Hours have officially ended for today. And bright and early tomorrow, I can start a program for...How to Be a Better Parent....well, maybe after coffee, that is...
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Time to get out and play...
So, here we are about 7 months into our tenure as...Chapel Hillians, (I probably just made that up, but I'm going with it anyway...) halfway through the school year, and I'd have to say that for the most part things are coasting along nicely. The boys have each adjusted to the Middle/High School transitions and their new schools. They've met lots of friends through neighborhood connections and soccer bonding. But it's precisely this--their active adolescent social lives--that shines a spotlight on an issue for yours truly. You see, never having moved more than an hour in any direction in my previous migrations around the state of Maryland, I've always been able to maintain my existing friendships, without having to go searching for new contacts. But suddenly here I am, 300 miles away from all of my buddies (Hi, you guys! Don't worry, I won't ever forget you!)...and seriously needing to meet some people.
Don't get me wrong--I'm not saying I've been living like a hermit, or anything. We've met neighbors, and we've made it a point to at least introduce ourselves to the parents of kids with whom Derek and Riley have been hanging out on a regular basis. Also, in a strange-but-happy coincidence, an old playgroup pal from Olney put me in touch with a friend of hers who moved here from our area 3 years ago with her family. She and I met, hit it off, and have been getting together regularly for coffee or lunch ever since. Small world!
But now the time had come to take some additional definitive steps toward expanding my social horizons. That's right, I'm just gonna get out there and...stop people on the street and introduce myself. No, no...that's not it at all. (Because, you know "Law Enforcement" is not quite the element I'm aiming to attract...) Hmm...this is trickier than I thought...what's an adult--who lacks the built-in network of school and sports and...neighborhood shenanigans--to do when seeking...playmates? (You know, for grown-up games...like, um..."book chats"...or perhaps "cocktail hours"...) So after unsuccessfully wracking my brains trying to figure out a plan of attack for this little problem, I turned to the default option of our digital day and age: Google, of course.
First I did some...sort of...soul-searching, to pinpoint what exactly I was seeking. Well, one of the reasons we chose this area was for the opportunity to be outdoors in all 4 seasons...let's start there. So I typed in something along the lines of "fitness groups" or "hiking clubs"...and hit the jackpot. After sorting through the plethora of choices, I selected 2 to join (one of them I had to actually ask to be approved...and--whew!--was I relieved when I was accepted!). Next I scrolled through their "Coming Attractions" and signed up for a couple of events.
The first one actually happened this past Saturday, and consisted of a nice walk on a paved trail through some local forestland. As it turned out, the weather wasn't too lovely--and by that I simply mean that it was a chilly, damp 40*, with the threat of sprinkles looming overhead--so the only other attendees were the couple who organized the group. Well, that just meant that I got to log a 3-mile stroll while enjoying a nice get-to-know-you conversation...which is all good. As a bonus, on this particular trail there's an offshoot leading up a hill to a well-known local coffee establishment. We laughed that on the return trip--having earned it by completing our jaunt--we should stop off for a cup of joe. By the time we were headed back, it had begun to seem like not so much of a joke...as a "really great idea". So...mission accomplished: I met 2 very nice folks, checked off exercise for the day, and got to savor a truly excellent java fix...yay! Next up is another outing scheduled for this coming weekend, and also the hike I registered for with the other club.
Okay, since I was on a roll, I also decided to make an effort--again--to locate a suitable dance class. It's been a continuing disappointment for me that--although there are multiple studios in this area--the only modes they seem to offer for adults are tap and ballet...neither of which I have any desire whatsoever to take. I've also discovered from past experience that I don't enjoy Zumba...and I just can't work up any interest in a Jazzercize-type...thing. So I carefully turned to my old amigo Google once more, and tried to word my request in such a way as to get...appropriate suggestions. I mean c'mon..."Adult Dance Class" just sounds...vaguely stripper-y, right? I figured you couldn't just type that in, unless you were keen on perfecting the process of skillfully shedding your apparel whilst winding yourself suggestively around a pole...and while I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that...it's soooooo very much NOT me.
Anyway, however I ended up phrasing my search, I got a hit for something called Cardio Funk, an 8-week session held at the Arts Center in Carrboro, 2 miles from my house. By emailing the instructor, I found out that she herself is a dancer, and runs each class with a standard format: warmup, stretching, strength and conditioning, learning and practicing a portion of a dance routine, and cooldown. Wait...That. Sounds. Awesome! It's literally exactly what I've been looking for...and it's located practically in my own backyard. Whoo hoo! I got permission to show up on the first night and give it a trial run, to make sure it was everything I hoped...and I'm delighted to say that it WAS. We got limber ("ish", I am still a 40-something woman, after all); we got sweaty; we boogied...it was altogether suuuuuuper fun.
So there you have it. I'm getting out there, doing my best to put myself in interactive situations and secure some new friends...and haven't even had to resort to accosting innocent, unsuspecting strangers on the sidewalks...let's hope I'm on a better path (so to speak) and it doesn't come to that!
Don't get me wrong--I'm not saying I've been living like a hermit, or anything. We've met neighbors, and we've made it a point to at least introduce ourselves to the parents of kids with whom Derek and Riley have been hanging out on a regular basis. Also, in a strange-but-happy coincidence, an old playgroup pal from Olney put me in touch with a friend of hers who moved here from our area 3 years ago with her family. She and I met, hit it off, and have been getting together regularly for coffee or lunch ever since. Small world!
But now the time had come to take some additional definitive steps toward expanding my social horizons. That's right, I'm just gonna get out there and...stop people on the street and introduce myself. No, no...that's not it at all. (Because, you know "Law Enforcement" is not quite the element I'm aiming to attract...) Hmm...this is trickier than I thought...what's an adult--who lacks the built-in network of school and sports and...neighborhood shenanigans--to do when seeking...playmates? (You know, for grown-up games...like, um..."book chats"...or perhaps "cocktail hours"...) So after unsuccessfully wracking my brains trying to figure out a plan of attack for this little problem, I turned to the default option of our digital day and age: Google, of course.
First I did some...sort of...soul-searching, to pinpoint what exactly I was seeking. Well, one of the reasons we chose this area was for the opportunity to be outdoors in all 4 seasons...let's start there. So I typed in something along the lines of "fitness groups" or "hiking clubs"...and hit the jackpot. After sorting through the plethora of choices, I selected 2 to join (one of them I had to actually ask to be approved...and--whew!--was I relieved when I was accepted!). Next I scrolled through their "Coming Attractions" and signed up for a couple of events.
The first one actually happened this past Saturday, and consisted of a nice walk on a paved trail through some local forestland. As it turned out, the weather wasn't too lovely--and by that I simply mean that it was a chilly, damp 40*, with the threat of sprinkles looming overhead--so the only other attendees were the couple who organized the group. Well, that just meant that I got to log a 3-mile stroll while enjoying a nice get-to-know-you conversation...which is all good. As a bonus, on this particular trail there's an offshoot leading up a hill to a well-known local coffee establishment. We laughed that on the return trip--having earned it by completing our jaunt--we should stop off for a cup of joe. By the time we were headed back, it had begun to seem like not so much of a joke...as a "really great idea". So...mission accomplished: I met 2 very nice folks, checked off exercise for the day, and got to savor a truly excellent java fix...yay! Next up is another outing scheduled for this coming weekend, and also the hike I registered for with the other club.
Okay, since I was on a roll, I also decided to make an effort--again--to locate a suitable dance class. It's been a continuing disappointment for me that--although there are multiple studios in this area--the only modes they seem to offer for adults are tap and ballet...neither of which I have any desire whatsoever to take. I've also discovered from past experience that I don't enjoy Zumba...and I just can't work up any interest in a Jazzercize-type...thing. So I carefully turned to my old amigo Google once more, and tried to word my request in such a way as to get...appropriate suggestions. I mean c'mon..."Adult Dance Class" just sounds...vaguely stripper-y, right? I figured you couldn't just type that in, unless you were keen on perfecting the process of skillfully shedding your apparel whilst winding yourself suggestively around a pole...and while I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that...it's soooooo very much NOT me.
Anyway, however I ended up phrasing my search, I got a hit for something called Cardio Funk, an 8-week session held at the Arts Center in Carrboro, 2 miles from my house. By emailing the instructor, I found out that she herself is a dancer, and runs each class with a standard format: warmup, stretching, strength and conditioning, learning and practicing a portion of a dance routine, and cooldown. Wait...That. Sounds. Awesome! It's literally exactly what I've been looking for...and it's located practically in my own backyard. Whoo hoo! I got permission to show up on the first night and give it a trial run, to make sure it was everything I hoped...and I'm delighted to say that it WAS. We got limber ("ish", I am still a 40-something woman, after all); we got sweaty; we boogied...it was altogether suuuuuuper fun.
So there you have it. I'm getting out there, doing my best to put myself in interactive situations and secure some new friends...and haven't even had to resort to accosting innocent, unsuspecting strangers on the sidewalks...let's hope I'm on a better path (so to speak) and it doesn't come to that!
Friday, January 23, 2015
The "staff" needs some training...
For a while, when I was a carefree, independent...gallivanting...20-something, I was of the opinion that I might not want to have kids. (In all honesty...some days I still believe that...kidding!!) Even when I met Husband, and changed my mind, I couldn't imagine wanting to do something as nutty as...stay home...with the rugrats. (Mashed carrots and diapers and...jingly baby toys..shudder!) After all, I was a "career woman", right? Yeah...until the munchkins actually came along, at which point I obviously reversed my thinking on that one, too. So for the past 14 years or so, I've tried my best to balance part-time employment with all of my duties as Household Manager. Given that my personality leans toward...um, let's be kind and label it "hyper-organized"--I'd have to say it's gone pretty smoothly, overall.
However...it's recently become glaringly clear that perhaps I've been doing my job a bit TOO well. What I mean is: without any of us even realizing it, my kids have grown entirely too pampered for their own (or my) good. You see, because I'm able to devote time in my schedule to take charge of all the little details and ensure that things keep humming along...the boys haven't had to do too much for themselves...and are therefore fairly ignorant of...and inept at...some very rudimentary tasks. For example, Derek wanted ramen noodles last weekend for lunch. He grabbed the package from the pantry, then abruptly stopped in the middle of the kitchen with a semi-helpless expression and laughed, "I have no idea how to make this!" Before I could respond he brightened and said, "Oh, here are the directions! Let's see...boil water. Do I use the stove or the microwave? Hmm, where would I find a...boiling water....thingie?"
Ay yi yi...after I picked my head back up from where it was resting in my hands in despair, I talked him through intricate process of instant soup preparation. Meanwhile my internal monologue was carrying on quite a scolding, along the lines of "What kind of mother are you? He needs to know these things! You said when he reached High School, you'd start teaching him how to take care of himself!" And this is all true--I did have the best of intentions for making my child self-sufficient, so that when he goes off into that Big Wide World (or, you know, "college") he'll be a savvy consumer, capable cook, and at least passably competent cleaner-upper. So far he can handle boiling water...toasting bread in the countertop convection oven...and making grilled cheese. Uh-huh...it seems I've got some catching up to do. To this end, I've decided that next up on the list will be the very simple but versatile "eggs" (of varying preparations) and "pasta" (which of course requires a whole other appliance to make the water bubble...should be interesting).
Okay then, when it comes to the whole issue of "cleaning", some of this is definitely my fault...'cuz I LOATHE that particular category of household...drudgery. Before we moved, we were (all) very spoiled by having a service come every other week to shine the house from top to bottom. In between, we'd keep things tidy and basically pick up after ourselves...but I didn't require any, you know, "scrubbing" or what have you. Well, we've cut the professionals back to once a month...which means that every two weeks we need to roll up our sleeves and do some actual housework ourselves.
You should have seen the boys' faces when I informed them they would be responsible for vacuuming the upstairs...and sprucing up their bathroom. The horror! The agony! It was priceless, I tell ya. And for right now, I do have to kind of stand sentry and remind them exactly what to do and how to do it. But we'll call it progress. (And as a bonus in their Life Skills Education Program, they now have personal insight into the consequences of missing the toilet whilst peeing. I suspect it makes you more careful, when you're the one wiping it up. We'll see how that plays out going forward...but really, who cares? It's Not My Problem anymore...yippee!)
Meanwhile, there's one other arena in which my children remain entirely coddled, past the time when some of the burden should have shifted to their increasingly broad shoulders. I'm talking about that event that occurs daily around here: laundry. Being an active family, we can pretty much fill the machine every day, so I like to stay on top of the situation. The idea of letting dirty stuff pile up until I have several loads that would take hours of my time to wade through...makes me feel stressed and cranky. (Yeah, I know, it's a personal problem...) So the bottom line is, everyone's become used to the fact that their clean clothes get returned within 24 hours.
I'm only sharing this deeply private information about my laundry habits because of a conversation Derek and I had a few days ago. He told me that one of his friends who usually wears nothing to school but warmup pants and hoodies had shown up in khakis and a button-down dress shirt. This apparently caused a ruckus of interrogation amongst his 14-year old buddies--at which point the kid revealed that he was only attired in that manner because "my mom hasn't done laundry, and I don't have anything else clean." Derek gazed at me, seeming utterly confounded, and wondered aloud how such a situation could possibly be allowed to happen. "You just...give our clothes back right away!" It was amazing to watch the unfolding of the exact moment in which he gained valuable understanding of the magic and mystery of the...Laundry Fairy...that has tirelessly and (mostly) uncomplainingly served him all his life.
But suffice it to say, it was an eye-opening little chat for his mother as well...who realized that there are two boys under her care who are long overdue for some instruction into the realm known as "How to Operate a Washing Machine and a Dryer." Given my own somewhat...lackadaisical attitude...toward the whole laundry issue, they'll be getting the abbreviated curriculum. Because I don't do anything crazy like, you know. "sort lights and darks" or "separate heavy and delicate items". Nah...it's all uncomplicated "chuck it in together and use cold water for everything" around here. So that should be fun. As long as everyone ends up with the right amount of undies and socks, it's all good as far as I'm concerned.
Hey, here's an idea: if all goes well, perhaps I can get Derek to whip us up some soup and grilled cheese to celebrate...and Riley can clean up afterwards! Picture me brushing my hands briskly together in the universal sign for "my work here is D-O-N-E!"
However...it's recently become glaringly clear that perhaps I've been doing my job a bit TOO well. What I mean is: without any of us even realizing it, my kids have grown entirely too pampered for their own (or my) good. You see, because I'm able to devote time in my schedule to take charge of all the little details and ensure that things keep humming along...the boys haven't had to do too much for themselves...and are therefore fairly ignorant of...and inept at...some very rudimentary tasks. For example, Derek wanted ramen noodles last weekend for lunch. He grabbed the package from the pantry, then abruptly stopped in the middle of the kitchen with a semi-helpless expression and laughed, "I have no idea how to make this!" Before I could respond he brightened and said, "Oh, here are the directions! Let's see...boil water. Do I use the stove or the microwave? Hmm, where would I find a...boiling water....thingie?"
Ay yi yi...after I picked my head back up from where it was resting in my hands in despair, I talked him through intricate process of instant soup preparation. Meanwhile my internal monologue was carrying on quite a scolding, along the lines of "What kind of mother are you? He needs to know these things! You said when he reached High School, you'd start teaching him how to take care of himself!" And this is all true--I did have the best of intentions for making my child self-sufficient, so that when he goes off into that Big Wide World (or, you know, "college") he'll be a savvy consumer, capable cook, and at least passably competent cleaner-upper. So far he can handle boiling water...toasting bread in the countertop convection oven...and making grilled cheese. Uh-huh...it seems I've got some catching up to do. To this end, I've decided that next up on the list will be the very simple but versatile "eggs" (of varying preparations) and "pasta" (which of course requires a whole other appliance to make the water bubble...should be interesting).
Okay then, when it comes to the whole issue of "cleaning", some of this is definitely my fault...'cuz I LOATHE that particular category of household...drudgery. Before we moved, we were (all) very spoiled by having a service come every other week to shine the house from top to bottom. In between, we'd keep things tidy and basically pick up after ourselves...but I didn't require any, you know, "scrubbing" or what have you. Well, we've cut the professionals back to once a month...which means that every two weeks we need to roll up our sleeves and do some actual housework ourselves.
You should have seen the boys' faces when I informed them they would be responsible for vacuuming the upstairs...and sprucing up their bathroom. The horror! The agony! It was priceless, I tell ya. And for right now, I do have to kind of stand sentry and remind them exactly what to do and how to do it. But we'll call it progress. (And as a bonus in their Life Skills Education Program, they now have personal insight into the consequences of missing the toilet whilst peeing. I suspect it makes you more careful, when you're the one wiping it up. We'll see how that plays out going forward...but really, who cares? It's Not My Problem anymore...yippee!)
Meanwhile, there's one other arena in which my children remain entirely coddled, past the time when some of the burden should have shifted to their increasingly broad shoulders. I'm talking about that event that occurs daily around here: laundry. Being an active family, we can pretty much fill the machine every day, so I like to stay on top of the situation. The idea of letting dirty stuff pile up until I have several loads that would take hours of my time to wade through...makes me feel stressed and cranky. (Yeah, I know, it's a personal problem...) So the bottom line is, everyone's become used to the fact that their clean clothes get returned within 24 hours.
I'm only sharing this deeply private information about my laundry habits because of a conversation Derek and I had a few days ago. He told me that one of his friends who usually wears nothing to school but warmup pants and hoodies had shown up in khakis and a button-down dress shirt. This apparently caused a ruckus of interrogation amongst his 14-year old buddies--at which point the kid revealed that he was only attired in that manner because "my mom hasn't done laundry, and I don't have anything else clean." Derek gazed at me, seeming utterly confounded, and wondered aloud how such a situation could possibly be allowed to happen. "You just...give our clothes back right away!" It was amazing to watch the unfolding of the exact moment in which he gained valuable understanding of the magic and mystery of the...Laundry Fairy...that has tirelessly and (mostly) uncomplainingly served him all his life.
But suffice it to say, it was an eye-opening little chat for his mother as well...who realized that there are two boys under her care who are long overdue for some instruction into the realm known as "How to Operate a Washing Machine and a Dryer." Given my own somewhat...lackadaisical attitude...toward the whole laundry issue, they'll be getting the abbreviated curriculum. Because I don't do anything crazy like, you know. "sort lights and darks" or "separate heavy and delicate items". Nah...it's all uncomplicated "chuck it in together and use cold water for everything" around here. So that should be fun. As long as everyone ends up with the right amount of undies and socks, it's all good as far as I'm concerned.
Hey, here's an idea: if all goes well, perhaps I can get Derek to whip us up some soup and grilled cheese to celebrate...and Riley can clean up afterwards! Picture me brushing my hands briskly together in the universal sign for "my work here is D-O-N-E!"
Monday, January 19, 2015
"Snow Day" Stuff
As new transplants to NC, we often are asked why we chose to move here. When we tell people that climate was one of the top reasons, the responses vary--some will nod knowingly in full agreement, while others hasten to "warn" us about the unique perils of Southern Winters. One thing I've heard repeatedly is that just a wee bit of snow or ice can trigger a disproportionately disastrous situation, since the local government doesn't budget much for plows or traction-assisting materials like salt or sand. And I've also heard this little snippet of advice multiple times by now, delivered with utmost gravity: "Just because YOU may know how to drive on slick roads...doesn't mean everyone ELSE does! Your best bet is to just stay home!" (Duly noted..."Stay Out of the Path of Dangerous Drivers" sounds like a perfectly sane and healthy plan to me...)
We were also informed that the schools have been known to close...when the forecast calls for wintry precipitation. That's right, I'm not talking about when the frozen stuff actually happens, but BEFORE it even shows up. Hmmm..."Overly cautious"? Perhaps. But "safe"? You can't argue with that. In fact, we experienced our first such event just last week; meteorologists predicted freezing rain overnight, and the school system instantly decreed a 2-hour delay for the following morning, prior to the appearance of the first drop. So of course the kids were jazzed--without having to get out of bed and check what had occurred while they slept, they already knew they could turn off the alarms and wake up at their leisure.
Then we all met in the kitchen for coffee--or chocolate milk--and discovered (via text...and voicemail...and email....they do their darndest to keep you up to date on what's happening, I'll give them mad props for that at least) that the Powers That Be had reversed their previous decision...and closed schools down completely for the day. We gazed at each other, bemused...then peered out at the porch...where a barely visible, wafer thin, fragile crust of...well, you could barely even dignify it with the name "ice", really...lay innocently on the bricks. About the same time, a car passed our house, managing the road with no apparent difficulty, climbing the hill smoothly and without evidence of sliding on the road surface. Huh. Okay, then: First North Carolina Snow Day it is!
It certainly didn't qualify as a Winter Wonderland by any stretch of the imagination, and it was pretty cold and damp outside...so the boys devised a way to entertain themselves, indoor-style. They worked together--I'm sorry, I meant to say they "formed a collaborative team"--to design and construct an elaborate edifice known as...Yellow Toad's Bar and Grill. For this endeavor they reclaimed the large box my exercise bike had been delivered in, and borrowed other necessary items such as an X-Acto knife and duct tape (naturally) from the accumulated tools and whatnot in our home collection.
During their interview for this profile (ha!) the brothers admitted that they encountered a few...communication breakdowns...when one of them didn't quite understand what the other was trying to convey...generally in terms of the architectural plan for each of the individual spaces, I'm told. But as far as the Big Picture goes: on a day when they were trapped inside, they spent a number of hours together, mostly peacefully, using their skills and ideas to produce something pretty cool.
I love seeing what they create when they combine their brains and talents. I'm especially pleased when they use those considerable assets for Good, rather than Mischief. And perhaps most of all, I'm thrilled when they get to have Bonus Brother Bonding Time...while I get to have an extra cup of java in peace. And then....they'll return to the hallowed halls of academia (or, you know, "Middle and High School")...and as luck would have it in the mercurial season known as Chapel Hill Winter, the relatively brief cold snap will come to an end, and we're due to be treated to some delightful upper-50* January days...looks like everyone's a winner!
We were also informed that the schools have been known to close...when the forecast calls for wintry precipitation. That's right, I'm not talking about when the frozen stuff actually happens, but BEFORE it even shows up. Hmmm..."Overly cautious"? Perhaps. But "safe"? You can't argue with that. In fact, we experienced our first such event just last week; meteorologists predicted freezing rain overnight, and the school system instantly decreed a 2-hour delay for the following morning, prior to the appearance of the first drop. So of course the kids were jazzed--without having to get out of bed and check what had occurred while they slept, they already knew they could turn off the alarms and wake up at their leisure.
Then we all met in the kitchen for coffee--or chocolate milk--and discovered (via text...and voicemail...and email....they do their darndest to keep you up to date on what's happening, I'll give them mad props for that at least) that the Powers That Be had reversed their previous decision...and closed schools down completely for the day. We gazed at each other, bemused...then peered out at the porch...where a barely visible, wafer thin, fragile crust of...well, you could barely even dignify it with the name "ice", really...lay innocently on the bricks. About the same time, a car passed our house, managing the road with no apparent difficulty, climbing the hill smoothly and without evidence of sliding on the road surface. Huh. Okay, then: First North Carolina Snow Day it is!
It certainly didn't qualify as a Winter Wonderland by any stretch of the imagination, and it was pretty cold and damp outside...so the boys devised a way to entertain themselves, indoor-style. They worked together--I'm sorry, I meant to say they "formed a collaborative team"--to design and construct an elaborate edifice known as...Yellow Toad's Bar and Grill. For this endeavor they reclaimed the large box my exercise bike had been delivered in, and borrowed other necessary items such as an X-Acto knife and duct tape (naturally) from the accumulated tools and whatnot in our home collection.
During their interview for this profile (ha!) the brothers admitted that they encountered a few...communication breakdowns...when one of them didn't quite understand what the other was trying to convey...generally in terms of the architectural plan for each of the individual spaces, I'm told. But as far as the Big Picture goes: on a day when they were trapped inside, they spent a number of hours together, mostly peacefully, using their skills and ideas to produce something pretty cool.
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| Team WestEnders, Junior Division, hard at work....or play! |
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| Detail of the "bar area" (yes, those are the kitchen knobs we replaced...repurposed!) |
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| The "Boss's computer station". |
Friday, January 16, 2015
Going nowhere...but working hard!
So I made a New Year's Resolution, of sorts...well, I guess you'd have to call it more of an "anti-resolution", really. You see, ever since we moved 300 miles south I had this notion that I would become one of those people that rode their bike...year-round. You know the ones--they're bundled to the eyeballs in all kinds of specialized thermal and wind-proof gear, and they're out there pedaling away come rain, chill breeze, freezing temps, or whatever else Mother Nature throws their way. And I was going to finally make an effort to condition myself to withstand the elements, and join their ranks. Except...I kept making excuses to put it off. Um...it's too blustery today; that'll be uncomfortable. Eh, it's overcast, so it won't warm up enough...and, you get the picture.
After several months of finding lots of reasons NOT to get out there, while simultaneously beating myself up mentally for not being sufficiently tough, or determined, I finally decided to just Let. It. Go. I allowed myself to accept the fact that I'm not that person...and that's actually OKAY. (I realize it sounds ridiculously simple and obvious--especially when I shared my thoughts with Husband and he immediately, emphatically validated my opinion, "Oh, yeah, there's nothing fun about the wind chill you create by riding a bike when it's cold out!" So it's not just me...hey, maybe we should start our own club: Warm Weather Wheelers...I'll get right on that..in the Spring...)
On the plus side, I saved the cash I could have squandered on lots of expensive apparel, which would have been necessary for me to even have a prayer of transforming into a Winter Cyclist. On the other hand, it's going to probably still be several months until I feel...meteorologically motivated...to get back out there, so we needed options in the interim to make working out inside a viable alternative. In short, a stationary bike would get us through the cold(ish) months in comfort, and also help maintain those pedal-pumping muscles for when Spring calls us back to the streets. (Historical note, of sorts: We actually had an indoor Schwinn model in Maryland, but sold it before the move. It was several years old, and super-duper-heavy, so we decided that rather than deal with that particular apparatus, we'd start with a new one...if it came to that. Aannnnd here we were, having arrived at "Uh-huh, we gotta get us one of those"...)
Thus, by the magic of the Internet, I researched, selected, and ordered one...which showed up at our door in just a couple of days. About an hour of expert assembly (from Husband, to whom I automatically assign all of these...Master Mechanic...types of tasks) and--voila!--we had a fully-functional exercise bike. And I can tell you that, having given it a spin (sorry!) last night, it's a nice little piece of equipment. Besides all the normal stuff you'd expect (programmable resistance, heart rate monitor), it featured some characteristics that set it apart from our previous machine: vented seat, to facilitate evaporation of moisture; on a related note, a FAN to blow cool air on you as you labor away; an included cable to plug in your preferred audio device; easily adjustable seat (unlike the old one, which I had to virtually wrestle with in order to move it forward after someone taller had been perched there); and finally a cupholder large enough to accommodate both my insulated water bottle...and the remote control.
That's right, we've got that baby positioned just perfectly in the Bonus Room so that if you want to use it on a nice day, you can slide it forward just a smidge to be next to a window for fresh air. And it's placed in direct view of the TV...so, just theoretically, of course...one could plop down, choose a pre-loaded workout program like "Rolling Hills", set the duration for a reasonable 30 minutes...and pass the time huffing and perspiring (because by the way, those dang slopes felt more like mountains, the first time through) whilst enjoying, say, a recorded episode of The Librarians.
So, let's sum up, shall we? I achieved what felt like a very effective sweat session...in the agreeable environment of my own home (where the standard Winter forecast would be: a pleasant, climate-controlled 68*...and no breeze whatsoever)...and was entertained at the same time. Yeah, I'd say there's only one way to describe it: W-I-N!
After several months of finding lots of reasons NOT to get out there, while simultaneously beating myself up mentally for not being sufficiently tough, or determined, I finally decided to just Let. It. Go. I allowed myself to accept the fact that I'm not that person...and that's actually OKAY. (I realize it sounds ridiculously simple and obvious--especially when I shared my thoughts with Husband and he immediately, emphatically validated my opinion, "Oh, yeah, there's nothing fun about the wind chill you create by riding a bike when it's cold out!" So it's not just me...hey, maybe we should start our own club: Warm Weather Wheelers...I'll get right on that..in the Spring...)
On the plus side, I saved the cash I could have squandered on lots of expensive apparel, which would have been necessary for me to even have a prayer of transforming into a Winter Cyclist. On the other hand, it's going to probably still be several months until I feel...meteorologically motivated...to get back out there, so we needed options in the interim to make working out inside a viable alternative. In short, a stationary bike would get us through the cold(ish) months in comfort, and also help maintain those pedal-pumping muscles for when Spring calls us back to the streets. (Historical note, of sorts: We actually had an indoor Schwinn model in Maryland, but sold it before the move. It was several years old, and super-duper-heavy, so we decided that rather than deal with that particular apparatus, we'd start with a new one...if it came to that. Aannnnd here we were, having arrived at "Uh-huh, we gotta get us one of those"...)
Thus, by the magic of the Internet, I researched, selected, and ordered one...which showed up at our door in just a couple of days. About an hour of expert assembly (from Husband, to whom I automatically assign all of these...Master Mechanic...types of tasks) and--voila!--we had a fully-functional exercise bike. And I can tell you that, having given it a spin (sorry!) last night, it's a nice little piece of equipment. Besides all the normal stuff you'd expect (programmable resistance, heart rate monitor), it featured some characteristics that set it apart from our previous machine: vented seat, to facilitate evaporation of moisture; on a related note, a FAN to blow cool air on you as you labor away; an included cable to plug in your preferred audio device; easily adjustable seat (unlike the old one, which I had to virtually wrestle with in order to move it forward after someone taller had been perched there); and finally a cupholder large enough to accommodate both my insulated water bottle...and the remote control.
That's right, we've got that baby positioned just perfectly in the Bonus Room so that if you want to use it on a nice day, you can slide it forward just a smidge to be next to a window for fresh air. And it's placed in direct view of the TV...so, just theoretically, of course...one could plop down, choose a pre-loaded workout program like "Rolling Hills", set the duration for a reasonable 30 minutes...and pass the time huffing and perspiring (because by the way, those dang slopes felt more like mountains, the first time through) whilst enjoying, say, a recorded episode of The Librarians.
So, let's sum up, shall we? I achieved what felt like a very effective sweat session...in the agreeable environment of my own home (where the standard Winter forecast would be: a pleasant, climate-controlled 68*...and no breeze whatsoever)...and was entertained at the same time. Yeah, I'd say there's only one way to describe it: W-I-N!
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| Yep, that's sooo what I look like while working out: huge earrings, full makeup, perfectly coiffed hair.. hahahahahaaha!!!! |
Monday, January 12, 2015
The Way to a Man's Heart...(Or NOT)
With a couple of growing boys in the house, it seems like the topic of FOOD gets more than its fair share of attention. For example, we recently suffered through what can only be described as..."a gastronomic crisis of epic proportions"...well, if you're to believe the teenager's version of it, that is. What happened was, we left town for 2 separate trips during the kids' Winter Break from school, meaning we were gone for the better part of 2 weeks. Naturally, minimal shopping occurred during this period, as we attempted to create some kind of...culinary magic...from our pantry and fridge, especially focusing on using up perishable items.
However, I must admit that this resulted in a rather...barren, forlorn kitchen landscape when we finally returned home. A few pretzels...dry cereal...frozen vegetables...condiments...okay, it might perhaps have skewed a bit to the "dire" side. This left Derek to face the prospect of scrounging for sustenance on the meager pickings in his sight. (Because, you know, I just wasn't willing to get right back in the car and rush out to the grocery store immediately after setting foot in the house...I know, I know "Bad, Neglectful Mommy!" So...Wheat Thins...and, um...butter...never killed anyone. Suck it up for one night!) Instead of using his considerable talents productively, he chose to let loose with a dramatic mini-tantrum. "Jeez! There's NOTHING here! What am I supposed to eat? I'm gonna staaaarrrrve!" (Completely in jest, of course, but an impressive performance, nonetheless.)
Therefore my excursions to the local grocery establishment and the "ginormous-containers-of-edibles...warehouse" for Operation Restock the following morning proved unusually expensive. But we ended up with shelves laden with goodies, enough for even a bottomless pit 14-year old to be satisfied. Sadly, his contentment only lasted until his father jokingly pointed out, "Hey, we didn't eat any meat at all yesterday--we were temporary vegetarians!" (Sigh...THANKS, honey...) Derek was instantly outraged (again, in that fake-but-emphatic way he's perfected), "Oh no! Vegetarians are awful...Oh, hi, Mom!" (This last part delivered with a huge smirk, after turning around in "surprise" to see me standing behind him. Yeah, hi-lar-ious, son. You're so grounded...)
Although I know better, I responded anyway, "Hey, there's nothing wrong with vegetarians!" Riley picked this moment to chime in, "You're vegan, aren't you?" "Um, nooooo, I'm just a regular vegetarian." He knows the difference, really, but apparently he was feeling argumentative, because he continued, "Yes, you are!" Thinking to win the debate with logic (silly, silly me, right?) I countered, "What's the definition of a vegan? What do they eat?" He pretended to think about it for a second, then triumphantly shouted, "Nothing! They live on...Keurig, so you ARE a vegan!" (Look, my beloved child, I'm already envious of the frequency and amount of your extravagant food consumption, due to your raging adolescent male metabolism...let's not rub it in, shall we? Oh, and you're also grounded...)
Okay, I officially gave up on that pointless exercise, knowing I was outnumbered by the carnivores...and outvoted by the testosterone. It just so happened that quinoa was supposed to be the dinner plan for this evening--a dish that everyone likes, by the way--but I had gone to Costco again, so we had other options. One thing I purchased on a whim: Mickey Mouse-shaped chicken nuggets, which I used to keep in the freezer at all times when the boys were younger. I showed Derek the bag, expecting him to join me in a moment of nostalgia, and look forward to the cute little morsels on his plate. He just stared at me with an expression of disbelief and snorted, "You know I'm gonna need about 14 of those to fill me up, right?" "But...but...Mickey nuggets and cheesy potatoes...doesn't that sound like a feast?" "Suuuuure..." he agreed, "...for a SIX year old!"
For the record, he ate the damn things...and enjoyed them...so there! And he'd just better watch himself, because as the person who plans the Bill of Fare...and obtains all of the necessary items to assemble the Daily Specials...he'll be lucky if he gets his hands on any animal products for the rest of the week. That'll show him...mwah hah hah! Okay, then...unless there's suitable flattering, bribing of, and/or currying favor with the Queen...part-time vegetarians, it shall be!
However, I must admit that this resulted in a rather...barren, forlorn kitchen landscape when we finally returned home. A few pretzels...dry cereal...frozen vegetables...condiments...okay, it might perhaps have skewed a bit to the "dire" side. This left Derek to face the prospect of scrounging for sustenance on the meager pickings in his sight. (Because, you know, I just wasn't willing to get right back in the car and rush out to the grocery store immediately after setting foot in the house...I know, I know "Bad, Neglectful Mommy!" So...Wheat Thins...and, um...butter...never killed anyone. Suck it up for one night!) Instead of using his considerable talents productively, he chose to let loose with a dramatic mini-tantrum. "Jeez! There's NOTHING here! What am I supposed to eat? I'm gonna staaaarrrrve!" (Completely in jest, of course, but an impressive performance, nonetheless.)
Therefore my excursions to the local grocery establishment and the "ginormous-containers-of-edibles...warehouse" for Operation Restock the following morning proved unusually expensive. But we ended up with shelves laden with goodies, enough for even a bottomless pit 14-year old to be satisfied. Sadly, his contentment only lasted until his father jokingly pointed out, "Hey, we didn't eat any meat at all yesterday--we were temporary vegetarians!" (Sigh...THANKS, honey...) Derek was instantly outraged (again, in that fake-but-emphatic way he's perfected), "Oh no! Vegetarians are awful...Oh, hi, Mom!" (This last part delivered with a huge smirk, after turning around in "surprise" to see me standing behind him. Yeah, hi-lar-ious, son. You're so grounded...)
Although I know better, I responded anyway, "Hey, there's nothing wrong with vegetarians!" Riley picked this moment to chime in, "You're vegan, aren't you?" "Um, nooooo, I'm just a regular vegetarian." He knows the difference, really, but apparently he was feeling argumentative, because he continued, "Yes, you are!" Thinking to win the debate with logic (silly, silly me, right?) I countered, "What's the definition of a vegan? What do they eat?" He pretended to think about it for a second, then triumphantly shouted, "Nothing! They live on...Keurig, so you ARE a vegan!" (Look, my beloved child, I'm already envious of the frequency and amount of your extravagant food consumption, due to your raging adolescent male metabolism...let's not rub it in, shall we? Oh, and you're also grounded...)
Okay, I officially gave up on that pointless exercise, knowing I was outnumbered by the carnivores...and outvoted by the testosterone. It just so happened that quinoa was supposed to be the dinner plan for this evening--a dish that everyone likes, by the way--but I had gone to Costco again, so we had other options. One thing I purchased on a whim: Mickey Mouse-shaped chicken nuggets, which I used to keep in the freezer at all times when the boys were younger. I showed Derek the bag, expecting him to join me in a moment of nostalgia, and look forward to the cute little morsels on his plate. He just stared at me with an expression of disbelief and snorted, "You know I'm gonna need about 14 of those to fill me up, right?" "But...but...Mickey nuggets and cheesy potatoes...doesn't that sound like a feast?" "Suuuuure..." he agreed, "...for a SIX year old!"
For the record, he ate the damn things...and enjoyed them...so there! And he'd just better watch himself, because as the person who plans the Bill of Fare...and obtains all of the necessary items to assemble the Daily Specials...he'll be lucky if he gets his hands on any animal products for the rest of the week. That'll show him...mwah hah hah! Okay, then...unless there's suitable flattering, bribing of, and/or currying favor with the Queen...part-time vegetarians, it shall be!
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Warm Thoughts
When you log in to the Blogspot website, your own personal "Dashboard" pops up, displaying a variety of information specific to your set of postings--helpful and interesting facts such as when you last published (gulp...yep, I've been slacking, better get right on that...), how many views each piece has gotten (thanks!), and the total number of entries you've made, since the time you set up your site. So I know, for instance, that today's modest little offering...represents Post Number 700. Whoa! That's a lotta babbling...stream-of-consciousness...made-up words...and inventive punctuation, folks.
Now I feel pressure, a...weight of expectation, if you will...to impart something profound and insightful...to maybe sum up the past 6-1/2 years-ish of my experiences as an online writer...to put the whole thing into some kind of context and come up with, I don't know, "the meaning of life...so far"...or whatever. But then I decided, "Eh, I'm just going to do what I always do"--share my thoughts about what's going on right now in my little sphere of influence...the top story as it appears in the world of Team WestEnders. And this just happens to be: The Weather. (How's THAT for a buildup?Aannnnd...kablooey bursts the balloon of anticipation...sorry!)
Anyway, meteorologically speaking, one thing that made North Carolina so appealing to us as a potential relocation spot was the contrast between the Winters we were used to enduring in Maryland and the supposedly milder southern season. Naturally, I researched the topic and gathered as much data as I could before we made our decision. The most significant detail I uncovered was that, at least on paper, NC generally enjoys a shorter, less frigid Winter, with the coldest temperatures occurring in December and January. Even so, the charts made it look like overnight lows would give way to daytime highs that typically reach 50* or above.
I am thrilled to report that in practice, this has proven to be reliable intel. December provided many days that met or exceeded those parameters, much to the delight of my outdoorsy clan. However, the forecast currently warns that a blast of Arctic air is headed our way, ushering icy winds and plummeting thermometer readings with it. Furthermore, this catastrophic event (or at least that's how you'd be inclined to categorize it, based on the dramatic news coverage it's receiving) is supposed to linger and cause havoc...for all of ONE day, by the way. Jeez, I might even have to wear a coat...and gloves...when I go out tomorrow: Ooh, the monumental inconvenience. (I'm kidding! Stop making that face!)
One reason I mention all of this is that yesterday Facebook was awash with reports of the D.C. region's first school cancellations due to snowfall and accompanying slippery conditions. Lately I had actually been wondering if I would miss the fluffy white stuff, and the excitement of having a surprise day off...and the answer turned out to be a resounding he...ck, nooooooo! The shoveling, the piling on of layers to keep body parts even marginally warm, the drenched, ice-covered mounds of clothing that had to be dealt with every time the kids came in from playing...I'm happy not to have to deal with ANY of it. (Although they do build a couple of extra days into the academic calendar here as well, "just in case", and Derek pointed out that he'd like there to be enough...flurries? Freezing rain? Whatever they pass off as Winter precipitation....to use those freebies. I can get behind that...)
All of this leads me to point out some of the most obvious differences I've encountered in my first Chapel Hill Winter: first of all, it almost goes without saying that we can be active outside--comfortably, mind you--almost every day. Walking, running, hiking--the only time we have to take a break from these is when it happens to rain, unlike in the Mid-Atlantic when some years I felt like I was trapped indoors with a severe case of Cabin Fever for months on end due to the bone-piercing chill that I just couldn't tolerate. Speaking of which, I've found that--as I hoped--my overall mood is vastly improved by not having to cope with feeling frozen all the time. Seriously, I don't have the clinically-recognized Seasonal Affective Disorder or anything major like that, but just being able to go out, get some light and fresh air, and not be shivering miserably while doing so--it's HUGE.
Whereas most Januarys, when we pack away the Christmas decorations and the neighborhood lights start to come down, I feel a sense of almost-despair...like "the holidays are over, so all that's left is...months of dark and cold", I don't have that here. I used to go through a ritual where several times each and every day I'd microwave a mug of tea--because I like to drink it, sure, but also to hold onto the toasty ceramic and thaw my hands for at least a short while. These days I sometimes think, "Oh, I haven't had hot tea for a while...hmm, I wonder if it's too warm today for me to appreciate it?" (Nah...when in doubt, always go for the cozy cuppa...says the person whose fingers still manage to be colder-than-average much of the time!)
At this rate, the boys will be able to count the days they were forced by the unsympathetic mercury to actually concede to wearing long pants...on the fingers of one hand. (Which will no doubt make them gleeful at the scant number...I envision them doing a "happy no-pants dance"...yeah, that's almost a given...) As for me, I'm gonna shrug into my fleece-lined jacket, pull on my Thinsulate-reinforced gloves, and brave the stupid sub-zero atmosphere that Alaska or Canada or whatever goshforsaken tundra-land is gifting us with for the next 36-hours or so. Then if all goes well, it'll go right back to sweaters and bare hands (or, you know, "shorts" for the part-polar-bear-sons)...and a lovely cup of tea to toast to a kinder, gentler Winter.
Now I feel pressure, a...weight of expectation, if you will...to impart something profound and insightful...to maybe sum up the past 6-1/2 years-ish of my experiences as an online writer...to put the whole thing into some kind of context and come up with, I don't know, "the meaning of life...so far"...or whatever. But then I decided, "Eh, I'm just going to do what I always do"--share my thoughts about what's going on right now in my little sphere of influence...the top story as it appears in the world of Team WestEnders. And this just happens to be: The Weather. (How's THAT for a buildup?Aannnnd...kablooey bursts the balloon of anticipation...sorry!)
Anyway, meteorologically speaking, one thing that made North Carolina so appealing to us as a potential relocation spot was the contrast between the Winters we were used to enduring in Maryland and the supposedly milder southern season. Naturally, I researched the topic and gathered as much data as I could before we made our decision. The most significant detail I uncovered was that, at least on paper, NC generally enjoys a shorter, less frigid Winter, with the coldest temperatures occurring in December and January. Even so, the charts made it look like overnight lows would give way to daytime highs that typically reach 50* or above.
I am thrilled to report that in practice, this has proven to be reliable intel. December provided many days that met or exceeded those parameters, much to the delight of my outdoorsy clan. However, the forecast currently warns that a blast of Arctic air is headed our way, ushering icy winds and plummeting thermometer readings with it. Furthermore, this catastrophic event (or at least that's how you'd be inclined to categorize it, based on the dramatic news coverage it's receiving) is supposed to linger and cause havoc...for all of ONE day, by the way. Jeez, I might even have to wear a coat...and gloves...when I go out tomorrow: Ooh, the monumental inconvenience. (I'm kidding! Stop making that face!)
One reason I mention all of this is that yesterday Facebook was awash with reports of the D.C. region's first school cancellations due to snowfall and accompanying slippery conditions. Lately I had actually been wondering if I would miss the fluffy white stuff, and the excitement of having a surprise day off...and the answer turned out to be a resounding he...ck, nooooooo! The shoveling, the piling on of layers to keep body parts even marginally warm, the drenched, ice-covered mounds of clothing that had to be dealt with every time the kids came in from playing...I'm happy not to have to deal with ANY of it. (Although they do build a couple of extra days into the academic calendar here as well, "just in case", and Derek pointed out that he'd like there to be enough...flurries? Freezing rain? Whatever they pass off as Winter precipitation....to use those freebies. I can get behind that...)
All of this leads me to point out some of the most obvious differences I've encountered in my first Chapel Hill Winter: first of all, it almost goes without saying that we can be active outside--comfortably, mind you--almost every day. Walking, running, hiking--the only time we have to take a break from these is when it happens to rain, unlike in the Mid-Atlantic when some years I felt like I was trapped indoors with a severe case of Cabin Fever for months on end due to the bone-piercing chill that I just couldn't tolerate. Speaking of which, I've found that--as I hoped--my overall mood is vastly improved by not having to cope with feeling frozen all the time. Seriously, I don't have the clinically-recognized Seasonal Affective Disorder or anything major like that, but just being able to go out, get some light and fresh air, and not be shivering miserably while doing so--it's HUGE.
Whereas most Januarys, when we pack away the Christmas decorations and the neighborhood lights start to come down, I feel a sense of almost-despair...like "the holidays are over, so all that's left is...months of dark and cold", I don't have that here. I used to go through a ritual where several times each and every day I'd microwave a mug of tea--because I like to drink it, sure, but also to hold onto the toasty ceramic and thaw my hands for at least a short while. These days I sometimes think, "Oh, I haven't had hot tea for a while...hmm, I wonder if it's too warm today for me to appreciate it?" (Nah...when in doubt, always go for the cozy cuppa...says the person whose fingers still manage to be colder-than-average much of the time!)
At this rate, the boys will be able to count the days they were forced by the unsympathetic mercury to actually concede to wearing long pants...on the fingers of one hand. (Which will no doubt make them gleeful at the scant number...I envision them doing a "happy no-pants dance"...yeah, that's almost a given...) As for me, I'm gonna shrug into my fleece-lined jacket, pull on my Thinsulate-reinforced gloves, and brave the stupid sub-zero atmosphere that Alaska or Canada or whatever goshforsaken tundra-land is gifting us with for the next 36-hours or so. Then if all goes well, it'll go right back to sweaters and bare hands (or, you know, "shorts" for the part-polar-bear-sons)...and a lovely cup of tea to toast to a kinder, gentler Winter.
Friday, January 2, 2015
Starting the new year off right
Even with our legs feeling the lingering effects of yesterday's step-aerobic...group hiking workout...the Male Posse and I geared ourselves up for one more jaunt in Western North Carolina. You see, we've set a family goal: to walk a part of the Appalachian Trail in each state it touches. So far I personally have covered Massachusetts and West Virginia (with everyone), Pennsylvania (with Husband) and Maryland (with the kids). To check off the next goal, we needed to drive extremely west--almost to the border of Tennessee, in fact.
Let me tell you, if we thought Asheville was hilly, nestled as it is in the mountains....it was nothing compared to where we were headed. Up and down gigantic slopes, sliding around curves that felt like a roller coaster ride, we gazed up in wonder at spectacular, pine covered peaks in every direction. The trailhead itself required some tricky navigation to find, tucked as it was off a nondescript dirt and gravel track, behind some trailer homes notable only for the vividly-feathered roosters roaming the yards. "Jeez," we marveled, "This must be a well-kept secret--I'll bet no one ever comes here!" (However, this notion was pretty much immediately dispelled...by the other 2 cars that pulled in right behind us. So we didn't have the place all to ourselves--but it was kind of festive to be greeted repeatedly by smiles and cheerful calls of "Happy New Year" each time we passed someone on the journey!)
Anyway, we prepared ourselves for the chilly weather with the essential items (you know: coats, gloves....mental toughness) and trudged out onto the Pump Gap Trail. The nature book Husband had purchased as a Christmas gift rated this little excursion "moderate"...but the sign at the beginning of the path disagreed, calling it "most difficult". I have to admit, that caused me a bit of trepidation, especially when the very first thing we had to do was cross a stream...just to get ONTO the marked walkway. This involved carefully choosing our footing and picking our way from one rock to the next, while trying to avoid splashing into the frigid water and starting the 4-mile hike with soaking wet feet. Fortunately, although it turned out that we had to repeat this process at least 6 more times over the course of our day, the initial fording was actually the most treacherous.
After that, we had several hours of strolling through what can only be described as "the forest primeval"--an atmosphere of utter stillness, with enormous trees towering over us. We followed a narrow, twisting ridge that usually had a steep cliff to one side and a sheer dropoff to the other. At times the rhododendron that apparently grows wild and rampant in the woods of North Carolina met over our heads to form a leafy green tunnel. In other spots there were so many boulders scattered over the trail that we had to scramble over them in order to continue forward. Oh, and did I forget to mention that much of the first half of our adventure involved a steady UPHILL trajectory? But it was all worth it when we arrived at the junction that pointed us onto the AT.
And as a bonus, occasionally we were rewarded for our efforts with a rocky outcropping where we could rest while taking in sweeping vistas of the mountains, or the town of Hot Springs and the French Broad River, far below us. Overall, it was one of the more impressive hikes we've done (and with our history, this is saying something); as a matter of fact, the boys deemed it "Top 5" on their all-time (so far) list. I mean, this shouldn't be surprising--as far as they're concerned, you're wasting their time if it's not A) sufficiently strenuous and B) offering adequate amounts of danger, such as the possibility of plunging off a precipice to your potential death. (How I gave birth to a couple of Adrenaline Junkies, I will never understand...I just cover my eyes as they nimbly scurry out to the edge...and hold my breath until they come back safely...sigh...)
When we'd finished up and returned to our car to finally SIT, the next order of business became (as usual) finding some sustenance. (Hey, we totally earned it...) What happened next was one of those happy accidents--I missed the turn for rejoining the highway, but we saw something resembling civilization (in the form of strip malls...but whatever) so we continued onward to investigate the available food options. While nothing instantly struck us, we saw a sign for a place called the Well Bred Bakery and Cafe. We decided to forgive the questionable pun (because we were that ravenous) and check it out. One more turn took us into the adorable wee town of Weaverville, where we located the aforementioned establishment...and its mouthwatering display case full of goodies. Seriously--kale salad and penne with arugula pesto? Yes, please! (Yeah, yeah...the carnivores had turkey paninis and were quite content as well...)
By the time we made it back to the hotel it was too late to do any of the other touristy things on my suggested Asheville agenda. So we lounged for a couple of hours before storming the city one last time. Once we parked and hit the pavement on foot, it proved a bit of a complicated task to locate a restaurant that was open on New Year's Day, didn't have a waiting list, and offered selections that would please all of us. Several fruitless laps around the town led us back to Scully's Bar and Grille...about a half-block from our garage. With TVs tuned to the Rose Bowl and an inventive menu, it met all of our needs...and the boys are delighted to proudly say that they had not one, but TWO pub meals during their vacation. (Bad parenting? Eh, at least we fed them...and only the adults got to partake of the beer course, so I'd say it's all good...)
And with that, we've probably done just about as much frolicking as we possibly can fit into this first foray into Asheville. It's a very lucky thing--or, you know, "excellent planning"--that we have 2 full days at home to rest and recover before getting back into the daily grind. Quite a satisfying start to the new year...Welcome, 2015!
Let me tell you, if we thought Asheville was hilly, nestled as it is in the mountains....it was nothing compared to where we were headed. Up and down gigantic slopes, sliding around curves that felt like a roller coaster ride, we gazed up in wonder at spectacular, pine covered peaks in every direction. The trailhead itself required some tricky navigation to find, tucked as it was off a nondescript dirt and gravel track, behind some trailer homes notable only for the vividly-feathered roosters roaming the yards. "Jeez," we marveled, "This must be a well-kept secret--I'll bet no one ever comes here!" (However, this notion was pretty much immediately dispelled...by the other 2 cars that pulled in right behind us. So we didn't have the place all to ourselves--but it was kind of festive to be greeted repeatedly by smiles and cheerful calls of "Happy New Year" each time we passed someone on the journey!)
Anyway, we prepared ourselves for the chilly weather with the essential items (you know: coats, gloves....mental toughness) and trudged out onto the Pump Gap Trail. The nature book Husband had purchased as a Christmas gift rated this little excursion "moderate"...but the sign at the beginning of the path disagreed, calling it "most difficult". I have to admit, that caused me a bit of trepidation, especially when the very first thing we had to do was cross a stream...just to get ONTO the marked walkway. This involved carefully choosing our footing and picking our way from one rock to the next, while trying to avoid splashing into the frigid water and starting the 4-mile hike with soaking wet feet. Fortunately, although it turned out that we had to repeat this process at least 6 more times over the course of our day, the initial fording was actually the most treacherous.
After that, we had several hours of strolling through what can only be described as "the forest primeval"--an atmosphere of utter stillness, with enormous trees towering over us. We followed a narrow, twisting ridge that usually had a steep cliff to one side and a sheer dropoff to the other. At times the rhododendron that apparently grows wild and rampant in the woods of North Carolina met over our heads to form a leafy green tunnel. In other spots there were so many boulders scattered over the trail that we had to scramble over them in order to continue forward. Oh, and did I forget to mention that much of the first half of our adventure involved a steady UPHILL trajectory? But it was all worth it when we arrived at the junction that pointed us onto the AT.
And as a bonus, occasionally we were rewarded for our efforts with a rocky outcropping where we could rest while taking in sweeping vistas of the mountains, or the town of Hot Springs and the French Broad River, far below us. Overall, it was one of the more impressive hikes we've done (and with our history, this is saying something); as a matter of fact, the boys deemed it "Top 5" on their all-time (so far) list. I mean, this shouldn't be surprising--as far as they're concerned, you're wasting their time if it's not A) sufficiently strenuous and B) offering adequate amounts of danger, such as the possibility of plunging off a precipice to your potential death. (How I gave birth to a couple of Adrenaline Junkies, I will never understand...I just cover my eyes as they nimbly scurry out to the edge...and hold my breath until they come back safely...sigh...)
When we'd finished up and returned to our car to finally SIT, the next order of business became (as usual) finding some sustenance. (Hey, we totally earned it...) What happened next was one of those happy accidents--I missed the turn for rejoining the highway, but we saw something resembling civilization (in the form of strip malls...but whatever) so we continued onward to investigate the available food options. While nothing instantly struck us, we saw a sign for a place called the Well Bred Bakery and Cafe. We decided to forgive the questionable pun (because we were that ravenous) and check it out. One more turn took us into the adorable wee town of Weaverville, where we located the aforementioned establishment...and its mouthwatering display case full of goodies. Seriously--kale salad and penne with arugula pesto? Yes, please! (Yeah, yeah...the carnivores had turkey paninis and were quite content as well...)
By the time we made it back to the hotel it was too late to do any of the other touristy things on my suggested Asheville agenda. So we lounged for a couple of hours before storming the city one last time. Once we parked and hit the pavement on foot, it proved a bit of a complicated task to locate a restaurant that was open on New Year's Day, didn't have a waiting list, and offered selections that would please all of us. Several fruitless laps around the town led us back to Scully's Bar and Grille...about a half-block from our garage. With TVs tuned to the Rose Bowl and an inventive menu, it met all of our needs...and the boys are delighted to proudly say that they had not one, but TWO pub meals during their vacation. (Bad parenting? Eh, at least we fed them...and only the adults got to partake of the beer course, so I'd say it's all good...)
And with that, we've probably done just about as much frolicking as we possibly can fit into this first foray into Asheville. It's a very lucky thing--or, you know, "excellent planning"--that we have 2 full days at home to rest and recover before getting back into the daily grind. Quite a satisfying start to the new year...Welcome, 2015!
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