Thursday, April 30, 2015

About the Benjamins (or at least Washingtons and Lincolns)

Okay, folks, it's time to brace yourselves, because I'm about to discuss the "f-word". That's right, you heard me, today's post is about..."finances". (What did you think I meant? Shame on you! Ha!) For years now the Team WestEnders Parental Banking Board (yeah, that would mostly be...me...) has been bestowing an allowance on her loyal subjects...um, "sons". The amount is arrived at by employing a complicated, multi-step algorithm using several variables and numerous mathematical operations...oh, who am I trying to kid? It's completely arbitrary, based on what I felt was fair and reasonable at the time.

However, I also concluded that it would be silly to actually, you know, hand over the cold, hard cash...since most of the items they've wanted to purchase can be acquired on Amazon, and involve nothing more than Mom clicking the "Order" button and charging the credit card. So instead, I keep a running tally in a notebook, adding to it each month when their virtual payday arrives. This of course confers the added benefit of freeing them from having to actually keep track of the physical bills and whatnot. It's a tidy, organized system with few flaws...except for the glaring one that recently came to our attention.

You see, with their resources so tightly monitored and controlled by their Asset Manager (I'm coming up with so many awesome titles for myself today...I probably deserve a raise...I'll have to work that into the budget...) they never have the opportunity to be in charge of making decisions about...how to allocate their investments. Now, this is preferable when they're impulsive, irresponsible youngsters, who--left to their own devices--would blow the wad on bubble gum and whatever goofy fad is currently sweeping the nation's toy stores. But now that they're a little older...and the development of the adolescent brain has enhanced those very same impulsive and irresponsible tendencies...I can see that it's high time they learned to deal with it.

So, what does this mean in practical terms? Letting go a little bit, (aargh! painful!) giving them some of their accumulated wealth, and providing enough rope with which to hang themselves. No, wait, that's not it...I mean "affording them the power to make choices about how to spend their own money." Do I expect them to make mistakes? Pfftttt, of course! But so far they've been operating in complete security atop the Parental Safety Net, and we adults all know that's not how the Real World works. I'd like them to figure some of this out while they're still under Husband's and my wing, so we can help them out along the perilous path to...Monetary Wisdom...or some such nonsense.

Thus I sprung this notion on my beloved children one day...and their reactions were...priceless. (Sorry!) Riley--my whimsical free-spender--was downright gleeful, practically rubbing his hands together at the thought of getting his grubby mitts on some moolah. Derek, on the other hand, surprised me by blurting out a vehement, "NO! MOOOMMMM...that's a terrible idea!" Somewhat taken aback, I asked him to elaborate. "If you give me my allowance...I"ll just spend it!" Um...that's kind of the idea, dear. He shook his head and clarified, "I can see it now--I'll be at the convenience store, and I'll be like 'Hey, I can have the 32-ounce drink instead of the 20, since I have money!'" Uh-huh, that's precisely what we're aiming for: making those tough selections without Mommy having the final say. And, oh yeah, living with the consequences of your actions! (Mwah hah hah! Oh yeah, with the loving support of your parents, of course!)

Then we were fortunate enough to experience an example of how this would work in the teenager's life, when he received some birthday money from his grandfather. (After which he jokingly noted, "Mom's just gonna take this when she needs some cash for coffee!" Hey, I resent that...okay, never mind, it's totally true...where did you stash it?) Next he was invited to go bowling with some of his buddies from school...and Husband took out $20 from the ATM to give him. (I'm sorry, but what part of the Operation Financial Education plan is escaping your understanding?) So I informed Derek that I'd be subtracting that amount from the ledger where I keep his current allowance totals, so that in effect he was utilizing his own funds. I swear, you would have thought I'd...decreed that he was heretofore banned from eating dinner...or something equally punitive and heinous. He gaped at me incredulously and huffed, "If I'd known THAT, I wouldn't have bought my friend an ice cream!"

First of all, yes he would have, being a generous person at heart. But more importantly, that's exactly what I'm talking about: somehow, money becomes soooo much more valuable all of a sudden when it's coming out of your own pocket, yeah? So, clearly I was right in that he's ready for this baby step in his maturity process--he understands the concept, realizes the stakes, and has just enough healthy misgiving to perhaps temper his choices. Welcome to the Big Boy Club, dude. The dues are high, but the rewards can be pretty cool...assuming you can save some of those presidents!



Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Thumbs down (but with room for improvement)

So, I've been dealing with this dastardly "thumb arthritis" (seriously, that's officially what it's called...I have the Mayo Clinic article given to me by the doctor to prove it) for what seems like forever, but is actually about 5 months now. My initial visit to the orthopaedist resulted in the diagnosis, and subsequent recommendations to ingest boatloads of NSAIDs and wear an immobilizing doohicky (NOT its patented name...but whatever). Well, I popped the pills for the prescribed 4 weeks, but when it made no difference whatsoever I wasn't comfortable continuing (especially considering that probably was more Ibuprofen than I'd previously consumed in my entire life leading up to that point).

And the hand-wrap-device? I tried it for a couple of days and found that it basically caused me to either A) avoid using that hand or B) force it to move in a different, awkward way...that led to an increase in pain. Yeah, that got ditched pretty quickly. Therefore I returned to my previous course of action: ignoring it when possible...or gasping and grimacing when something happened to trigger the ache. Then I reached the Fed Up Point once again, and decided to return to the medical experts for the next step in treatment...that's right, I'm talking about the dreaded cortisone shot.

I went back in and talked to the nice doctors again, and they reiterated their original opinion about the arthritis going on in there. But this time I had questions...such as "why does this happen?" (subtext: "without a precipitating event?") and the more pressing "I know I'm no teeny-bopper, but still, aren't I at least a BIT on the young...ish side for this?" (unspoken query: "And does this mean I can only anticipate it getting worse from here on out?") The very nice lady physician told me that this is the most common type of inflammation, in the most typical area, and that it happens more often to women than men. This was somewhat reassuring, but she added something even better: in and of itself, it doesn't in any way doom me to a lifetime of debilitating arthritis. In fact, it could just... eventually get better. (Yes, please, let's go with that sunny outlook...)

Then (all too soon) it was time for the big bad needle. Now, I'm not shot-phobic in any way. Nor do I believe I have a low threshold of pain. And I'm not some fainting damsel, by any means. But let me tell you what I told the nice medical people--I've received exactly one previous cortisone injection ...and I darn near passed out afterwards. As I remember it, I was sitting on the exam table when I got dizzy and lightheaded and the room started to go black. Fortunately I was able to inform the staff about what was happening, and they helped me onto my back instantly. Skip to the present, where my friendly medical team laughed and thanked me for the information, while confiding that "You don't fit the profile for people who tend to keel over on us." Oh, no? "No, the 6-foot-5 linebacker types usually take it worst!"

Ha! Okay, then, watch me be a big, tough chick! But they cautiously made me lie down anyway...which was probably wise, because those suckers Hurt. Like. A. (insert your favorite string of VERY BAD WORDS here). Seriously, it's relatively brief, but the agony is intense. And then, thankfully, it's over with, and you can go on your merry way. Or in my case, I could proceed to the lobby--where I wasn't required to check out, but needed to stick around a few minutes to make an appointment with another specialist (who's going to mold me a more wearable thumb-stabilizer that will hopefully assist in my recovery).

I stood around waiting my turn for a good 5 minutes or so...and it turned out to be very lucky that I did. As I spoke to the receptionist who was checking the scheduling calendar for me, I began to experience that telltale woozy sensation. The room began to tilt and spin and get fuzzy around the edges and I calmly, politely said, "I'm just going to sit down for a minute over there," gesturing vaguely in the direction of the nearest chairs. The concerned woman glanced up immediately (alerted by her finely-tuned doctor's office radar, no doubt) and asked, "Should I call the nurse back out here to check on you?" "Oh noooo," I waved her off in what I hoped was a breezy, carefree manner, "I'll be fine...in a minute."

And that was absolutely true...that is, until I attempted to stand up again. Never mind, I'm keeping my butt firmly planted in this here recliner. What's that? It's not a reclining chair? Well, let me assure you that it is now. (She stated firmly as she sprawled on an incline with her legs straight out and her head leaning against the back of the seat...an extremely graceful picture, I'm sure...but far preferable to "curled up in a heap on the floor", yes?) Meanwhile the nurse who'd been in the room assisting during my procedure came hustling out to inquire as to what she could do for me. (The receptionist sheepishly explained, "I tattled. Sorry!" Um...no worries! I'm sure having patients collapse in the waiting room doesn't inspire confidence. And...thank you!)

When the nurse offered juice, I jumped at the suggestion, admitting that low blood sugar might be part of my problem right then. 'Cuz...yeah...I didn't eat breakfast before heading off to the appointment. I know, I know--but in my defense, it was eeeaaarrrlyyy, and I wasn't even registering hunger at that time, so I just kind of...forgot....oops. My Florence Nightingale came back with water--apologizing that they didn't, in fact, have any juice--and a pack of those Lance cheese and peanut butter crackers. Those must have been magic, I tell ya, because once they hit my system, I felt as good as new.

How did I know I was okay? I was able to move on to tackling the next item on my agenda...Costco. So now, we wait for the swelling to subside and the ouchies from the actual injection to dissipate. I get fitted for a lower-profile, hopefully usable-in-my-everyday-life brace. Then we keep our fingers (carefully) crossed that this latest course of action makes the whole issue go the HECK away, permanently. As for the rest of today, having survived both the cortisone shot AND the warehouse quest, I think I've definitely earned...a nap...and perhaps some therapeutic chocolate...


Saturday, April 25, 2015

Running, definitely. "Racing"...eh, not so much

Yes, folks, that season is upon us once again--the time of abundant blossoms, temperate breezes...and apparently, multiple options available every weekend for runners to pound the pavement around town, sporting their sponsored "support-this-or-that-cause" t-shirts. With so many choices happening very close to home (because, you know, we really enjoy doing the races, and all...just as long as we don't have to get up too early for it!) Team WestEnders was considering participating in the 5K for Fitness, sponsored by the Public School Foundation.

However, Husband had a scheduled soccer game that conflicted with it, time-wise. And then there's also one of those "color runs" next Saturday, which prompted Derek to decide that he didn't want to commit to two 5Ks in a row (for reasons unknown--it's not like the boy doesn't run around all the time anyway, but whatever...) So the bottom line was: Riley and I would do the one this weekend, then we'd all four experience the goofy, rainbow-hued one together next week.

What really sealed the deal was when Riley told me he'd get extra credit in PE for showing proof that he completed this particular race. (I know, I know, the athletically-inclined kid isn't the one who actually needs the additional points....but I humored him anyway) So it came as no great surprise when we walked up to the area on UNC's campus where everyone was congregating before the event, and he immediately spotted a whole passel of other kids from his school. Now, I normally end up striding without my family anyway, by virtue of the fact that we all mosey along at very different paces. Fortunately--since it seems I was being well-and-truly ditched in favor of the peer group--this time I'd planned wisely and brought my headphones, so I could at least have peppy musical accompaniment.

As for the actual race, the weather was favorable--overcast and cool, with the rain holding off until we were totally finished (yessss!). But the course itself? In a word: HILLY. I mean, I'm not talking about scaling the...Cliffs of Chapel Hill (yeah, that's a figment of my imagination)...or anything, just rolling terrain that, over time, wore me right the heck out. (I felt better when I heard other people commenting about the same thing at the end, so it wasn't just me...being wimpy!) Let's just say that I slogged through my Slowest...3.1 miles..Ever. Riley, of course, was hanging with his buddies waiting for me to cross the Finish Line, looking fresh as the proverbial daisy. (Grr...the boundless energy of youth...where do I get me some of that?)

Anyway, they used a cool technology that we'd never seen before--where you actually wore the timing device behind the bib with your number on it. As you came to the end, someone with a...space-age-scanner-type-thingie (very advanced terminology...for those "in the know"...or perhaps those "making stuff up"...again...) waved it in the region of your belly (or back, if you had pinned the paper there instead) and thus recorded your "official time". So it turned out that Riley had clocked in at 24:30, good for 57th place overall (out of 330 people). And me? A relatively pokey 31:15...but 142nd put me in the middle of the pack, and as wiped as I felt when it was all over, that sounded pretty darn good to me. We did have a couple of brushes with greatness, though: one kid that Riley knew from school was doing his very first 5K...and he won his age group (20 minutes...seriously, how is it even possible to move that fast?) and a friend of Derek's also took first place for the 15 and 16 year old boys.

Personally, I know I've said it before, but in order for me to even have a snowball's chance of hauling my cookies at that speed, something reeeaaaallly scary would have to be chasing me. No, scratch that--as long as it wasn't a creature that wanted to eat me right away, I'd rather just allow it to catch me and drag me back to its lair, where I would then have the opportunity to come up with and execute a brilliant escape plan to save my life. And now you know the shameful lengths to which I would go...in order to avoid being forced to sprint. Lazy? Nah, I prefer to think of it as "sensible conservation of resources"...or some such nonsense...

Finally, of course, there's the reward...no, I'm not talking about the bananas and bagels provided as after-race snacks. I'm referring to the gourmet coffee and hot chocolate Riley and I stopped for on the way home. Hey, I can't help it if Weaver Street Market is directly in our path, right? Believe me, we earned it. Oh, and guess what: it's begun pouring in earnest at this point. So with our workout already in the books, the rest of the day can be spent LOUNGING with no guilt whatsoever..and maybe some more warm beverages....aaahhhh....


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Working on our dual citizenship...sort of....

When we first moved to North Carolina, it was common for people to ask us how we were settling in--to our new house, our adopted hometown, the kids' schools, etc. And the answers were always very concrete..."Our neighborhood's great...the boys have met lots of classmates and kids from our street...we're finding our way around." Now that we've been here for about 10 months, the polite inquiries have subtly shifted to something more along the lines of "So, does it feel like home yet? Do you get the sense that you belong here?" Hmm...for these less tangible factors, the responses aren't quite so cut-and-dried. I mean, sure, some of the reasons we came here--milder weather, new horizons to explore--have met our expectations beautifully. But as for the notion of...I don't know..."assimilating"? That's not so easy to quantify, is it?

Fortunately, I don't have to lie awake at night pondering these profound philosophical conundrums (which I totally was...okay, NOT), since several things happened recently that made me think the universe was humorously putting the issue to rest for me. First, I had the small-town experience of...running into someone you know. In this case, it was my dance teacher, in line at Whole Foods (I know, I know--of course it's where my fellow organic-crunchy-granola-tree-huggers hang out). And I don't know about you, but for me, nothing quite says "hey, you're really a part of this place now" like recognizing folks when you're out-and-about.

A similar incident occurred when Team WestEnders was meandering down Franklin Street through the heart of Chapel Hill, strolling towards our chosen restaurant for Derek's birthday dinner. It was a busy Saturday around twilight, with crowds of people enjoying the balmy Spring evening. There were couples who looked like they were on dates, parents clinging to the hands of young children, groups of gowned and tuxedoed college students out for what we assumed was a pre-UNC-event meal--it was hoppin', for sure. As we crossed an intersection amidst a throng of other pedestrians, we suddenly heard a kid's voice pipe up over the hum of conversation, "Hi, Riley!" I never quite spotted the actual child, lost as he was in a sea of taller legs, but Riley told us he was another 6th grader at his school. So we'll count that as another "friend spotting".

We continued down the sidewalk to our eatery...which turned out to be a popular place that day. Granted, it does not boast a large lobby...but the line stretched from the counter out the door. I've already mentioned that it was a lovely night, so we didn't particularly mind--more time for people-watching. We passed the time chatting and casually glancing at the waves of humanity sweeping by us, up and down the block. Apparently I wasn't as keen an observer as I could have been, however...when we got inside and sat down at a table, Derek asked if I'd noticed the very tall person behind us waiting. I admitted I hadn't. "Oh, that was Justin Jackson," he breezily informed me...in a manner that assumed I had any earthly clue what that meant. When I offered him only a blank stare, he elaborated, "He's a forward on UNC's basketball team."

Oh. Ohhhhh! That's like...a local celebrity sighting, or something! "Yeah," Derek added, "I thought it was him, but I knew for sure when another guy asked him to sign his hat!" Well, that's just too cool...I'm kinda sorry I missed it (and let's not talk about how out of it I must have been, that somehow a 6-foot-9 creature was towering over me a foot away and I failed to pay attention...I blame low blood sugar...), but at least I was there for the...near-brush-with-fame!

And finally, everyone knows I like to ramble, (no, I don't mean verbally...although clearly I enjoy that, too...) whether it's discovering places I've never been, or even seeking out alternate routes to locations I frequent (the back way to Costco--whoo hoo!). But it was still amusing to me when a couple of weeks ago a new acquaintance--who was going to be hosting out of town visitors soon--asked me what touristy-type spots I'd gotten to so far, which ones I'd found most interesting, and whether I would recommend them for her guests. I suddenly felt like a volunteer Tour Guide (Piedmont Region. And yes, I would in fact like that on a tee-shirt)...so...official...and whatnot.

So there you have it. I guess you could say we're all finding a niche here in the friendly environs of Chapelboro. (There, you see, that's another thing: insiders refer to our area that way sometimes-- because it's where Chapel Hill and Carrboro blend together. Learning the lingo...y'all...) We'll just keep on appreciating the abundant outdoor life...roaming around the highways and byways in search of entertaining adventures...and maybe memorizing the names and faces of local sports players so I can be better prepared for my next close encounter!

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Another year for my oldest "baby"....

There was a particularly momentous occasion this week for one member of Team WestEnders: Derek celebrated his 15th birthday. According to him, though, it was no big deal. When I asked whether he was excited about the milestone, he shrugged in a noncommittal way and said, "Well, I already had 14..." Oh, well sure...wait, what? He elaborated, "It's not like I'm just becoming a teenager...and 16 is a big one, when I can drive, so this year isn't really anything special." Hmm...I suppose that makes sense...after applying Teenage Boy Logic, of course.

However, I still felt compelled to try and make at least a little bit of a fuss about his turning a year older. For one thing, this would mark the first birthday he'd be spending in North Carolina. Instead of the customary family party with his cousins and godparents, he'd just get...his parents and sibling...you know, the same people he sees every day of his life. So I vowed to try to work out some birthday surprises...if possible. As it happened, I got a couple of lucky brainstorms in terms of presents. In fact, he and his brother actually inspired one, without their even realizing it.

You see, on one of our frequent trips to Dick's Sporting Goods (aka "possibly their favorite store in the known universe")--once they'd finished looking at/choosing whatever it was we'd gone in for in the first place--they hightailed it over to the golf section to goof around on the practice green that's set up there as a permanent installation. Presumably this is to help actual golfers try out clubs before buying them...but my kids treat it like their own personal mini-golf course. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that they L-O-V-E this thing. If I ever lose track of them in the store (which happens with exasperating regularity as they flit among the displays oohing and aahing over all the gear...but fortunately is far less panic-inducing than when they were toddlers, thank goodness...), I've learned that this is the most likely place to reunite with them.

Luckily the staff indulges them, seeming (so far) to find their schtick amusing...seeing as how they behave much more like...Happy Gilmore than, say, Jordan Spieth. (And yes, of course I had to look that up, do I seem like a golf geek to you?) Well, one day during the Winter, Riley enthused, "It would be great to have one of these to play with in the Bonus Room!" Ding ding ding! All I had to do was file that tidbit away, then consult with my bestie--you might know it as "Amazon"--when the time came to order up one personal putting green, 2 clubs, and a set of wall-and-furniture-friendly foam practice balls. The best part is, not only were they not expecting it, but they've played with it for hours every day since taking it out of the box and arranging it in their Boy Cave. A new "toy" that provides quality brother bonding time...score!

Then, the other thing that struck me as a bright idea for our sports-nut son was a subscription to ESPN Magazine. He's gotten Sports Illustrated Kids for years, and still anticipates its arrival every month, and enjoys devouring it cover-to-cover. But the way that boy soaks up details and statistics these days, and loves to analyze players and games and teams, I figured he was ready for something a bit more informative and in-depth. Besides, Husband will read it, too...which will undoubtedly spark even more sports-related dinnertime conversation than already occurs. So...another win...but it's probably a good thing I'm not much of an evening meal kind of girl, anyway (I predict they won't even notice I'm over in the corner with my nose buried in my latest issue of Fitness)!

Finally, we come to the all-important "food portion" of our traditional birthday commemoration. Since Thursday was a soccer night, Derek had to make do with whatever was on hand, and relatively quick and simple to prepare--which ended up being salmon (stocked in the freezer thanks to blessed Costco), roasted potatoes (the raw materials having been included in our weekly Produce Box delivery earlier that afternoon), and salad...not too shabby for a weeknight supper, yeah?

And rather than bake a cake for just us (which, let's be honest, here, I'd end up eating waaayyy too much of...) I decided to sneak off to a local bakery while he was at school and pick up a nice, reasonable 4-pack of cupcakes. Now, the closest option happens to be Weaver Street Market--a co-op that carries lots of organic, wholesome products--which besides their lovely bread-and-pastry section, also offers delightful coffee. Just sayin'...it was kind of a no-brainer. But imagine my shock when all I found in the case was an admittedly gorgeously-frosted set of...vegan cupcakes.

Knowing how much grief I'd endure from my loving Male Posse should I brazenly choose to bring these items into the house....I bought them anyway...then quickly stripped off the label and buried it in the garbage...and presented the treats with a smile. (Snickering on the inside at the thought of getting away with it...naturally...yeah, pun intended...) Aaaannnd...as I suspected, none of them had the slightest clue--the only comments revolving only around how richly chocolately they tasted. If you're counting, that's one more point for Mom...although in the Birthday Game, everyone's clearly a winner!

Whew! Now I can truly relax...'cuz the next one up in the Birthday Seat is...ME! By the way, no, thank you on the fish course, but feel free to get me some of those vegan cupcakes...please!


Monday, April 13, 2015

Little things that make me cringe for $1,000, Alex...

Let me just begin this message by stating: I'm well aware that my middle age years are about to become glaringly obvious. Also that some of my more...fanatical tendencies...will be blatantly on display. Oh, and not too many folks out there will sympathize, probably. That's all fine and dandy--I'm not gonna let it stop me from exercising my basic human right to embark upon an RoD. (Rant of the Day...yep, that's a thing...or at least it is now...feel free to have your own...you're welcome...) So, here goes:

I feel I must preface this by making it abundantly clear that I do love my child, and I think he's generally a delightful person. This being said, there are times when he reeeeaaalllly annoys me. (While I'm absolutely certain there's no possible way I EVER irritate him...hahahahaha!) Just as, you know, a random example, when he sends me a text message such as the following:


Now, he's right in his assumption that I understood perfectly well what he was trying to convey...and I suppose I can overlook the abbreviations...and lower case letters (notice that mine is correct, of course) but would it kill him to actually take the extra, oh, approximately 10 seconds to send a complete sentence? As for the complete omission of that modest, frequently overlooked and undervalued little device known as an apostrophe? Do. NOT. Get. Me. Started. I mean really, there's a fine line between the admirable goals of brevity and succinctness...and the not-so-esteemed quality of...laziness. One guess as to which side of the spectrum the teenager squarely falls on? (And by the way, it's a so-called Smart Phone, right? So don't give me any lame excuses about auto-correct. Um...you're the one with the higher intellect in this equation (allegedly), so teach the little computer the right way to do it...then it'll know better...DUH!)

And the thing is, he knows darn well it makes me nuts...yet he persists in doing it anyway...such as today's exchange:


I know I'm not the only old fogey to worry that texting is ruining this generation's ability to spell and punctuate correctly. However, while this was going on, Riley chimed in to share that his Language Arts class recently read an article from Scholastic Magazine about how kids who know how to use the common messaging acronyms perform better on vocabulary tests. Oh-kay...so the shorthand language he routinely employs to communicate electronically might actually be good for something, apparently. Fine. I still find the rest of it...kind of appalling.

I may have inadvertently stumbled upon a way to win this battle, though. When he returned home, Derek sought me out, with a sly grin on his face. "Riley told me you were mad about my texts," he said, without demonstrating even a shred of remorse. I gave him a scathing Mom Glare and retorted, "You just do that to provoke me, don't you?" "No," he protested mildly, "that's how I always text!" Thinking out loud, I countered with, "How about if I start ignoring your messages, unless you use apostrophes?" Unperturbed, he continued, smirking, "Then I'll just assume it's okay to stay at my friend's house."

"You'll be in trouble..." I started to contradict him, when suddenly the Brilliant Plan popped into my head. "I've got it: I'll start charging you a dollar for every time you leave out an apostrophe! What do you think about that?" I knew instantly that I'd struck gold--his mouth dropped open and he spun on his heel to leave the room indignantly, throwing back over his shoulder, "No! Mom, that's a terrible idea!" I called after his retreating back, "Well, would it make you do it the right way?" "Yes!" he growled defiantly...before firmly closing his door behind him with an unmistakably conversation-ending click.

Sooooo...I anticipate that the George Washingtons will just start piling up in the Coffee Fund...pretty much the minute I initiate...let's call it the "Apostrophe Tax". Mwah hah hah! Score one for the (well-caffeinated) Grammar Fiend...I mean "Mom"!

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Feeling Springy...

One of the main reasons for Team WestEnders choosing a spot in a southerly direction to relocate was definitely climate...disgruntlement. (I may have--just possibly--mentioned this already...once...or a thousand times...) I, particularly, was fed up with (what felt like to me, anyway) frigid Winters that seemed to drag on forever, with too much of the freezing type of precipitation for my liking. So it struck me as veeerrrry amusing that when we moved down here and people found out we were "new", almost everyone took it upon themselves to immediately apologize for A) the steamy Summers (which only made me think, "Dude, we're from the swampy D.C. area; we can deal) and B) the frosty season (to which I didn't even bother to reply, just shook my head and snickered on the inside).

But in the next breath--almost as if they wanted to make it up to me for the bad news they'd sadly imparted--most of them then enthusiastically extolled the virtues of North Carolina Falls and Springs. Having now experienced the Autumnal period, I can add my endorsement for its glorious array of colors and pleasingly mild temperatures. Thus we find ourselves entering into our inaugural Spring as Chapel Hillians...and I am most pleased to report that we are indeed finding it all it's cracked up to be.

It's funny--folks start anticipating the unlamented departure of Winter, and its subsequent replacement with the preferred cousin...we'll call her...Verna...right around March 1st. It's as if everyone expects to flip the calendar page and have it magically usher in the arrival of flowers, balmy breezes, and rising mercury. Don't get me wrong, I jumped right the heck on this merry little bandwagon...Spring has always been my absolute favorite time of the year, after all. But I admit that I harbored some doubts as to just how realistic these tales were--it seemed like a bunch of wishful thinking to this skeptical transplanted Northerner.

And...whattya know...it happened just about like they said it would. Maybe not with a sprinkling of...fairy dust...on 3/1, or anything...but in the space of a week or so, daffodils popped up out of the ground. Even more of an eye-popping surprise were the trees--those that get decked out in lovely white or pink flowers burst into full bloom seemingly overnight. (I wish I could tell you what they're called, exactly, but my horticultural knowledge is...um, how should I put this...oh yeah: "nonexistent".) Then the other species', jealous of their showier brethren, and eager to participate in the landscape transformation...or some such nonsense...began budding as well. I'm telling ya, it swung from Winter drab to Spring spectacular in just a handful of days. Oh, and it also did warm up--not like "Johna can wear short sleeves", or anything similarly nutty--but enough so that I got all wild and....ditched the fleece layers. (Hey, it totally counts!)

On an unrelated note, I wouldn't consider myself a thorough chronicler unless I disclosed the warnings that have been shared with us also. (You know, like those annoying disclaimers on prescription drugs? But much less...potentially deadly...thank goodness.) For example, people have repeatedly cautioned us about the pine pollen that's due to show up soon. Apparently it is released in bucketfuls, and showers down as a fine yellow mist that not only coats everything stationary, but also can creep in under your garage door and through any gaps in your windows. Soooo, we're all looking forward to THAT. And honestly, I can be a pretty accurate predictor of the p-word, myself: remember those first, gorgeous petals that showed up? Yeah, my nose morphed into some kind of cuckoo-sneeze-factory at the same time. But it seems a small price to pay for the bounty of beauty surrounding us right now.

And finally, speaking of nature's gifts: you know it's really, truly Spring when the Farmer's Market switches back to their full Saturday morning hours, and reinstates the Wednesday evening session. Yep, that would be "today", kiddos. (Da da da DAAAA!) The growing season is evidently well underway, and fresh produce is starting to trickle in from area fields. So I can swing by there on my way home this afternoon and pick out some juicy strawberries and tomatoes...and as long as I keep remembering to do my daily nose-squirts to ward off the plant dust, it's all good. Yay, Spring!


Saturday, April 4, 2015

Spring Break Scene

The Male Posse went to spend a few days with Husband's parents--or as the children like to think of it, "time to get spoiled...and fed...by Mimi and Pap Pap". I, of course, treasure my rare and special moments of peace and quiet while they're away. Although it's true that the house doesn't instantly, magically transform into a luxurious spa when the boys step out the door (Man, how cool would that be? I've gotta figure out how to make it happen one of these days...) it is still like a...mini-vacation...for me as well.

I mean, after the 72 loads of laundry the first day they were gone (Okay, okay, it was more like...4. But trust me, it felt like a whole lot more...) I get almost a total break from all of my daily chores. I mean, I'm certainly not gonna cook...for just ME. (Yeah, that's just crazy talk...) So my first order of business is to tidy up the house to its ultimate pristine condition. (Knowing it will stay that way for at least 72 hours--yaaayyy! Hey, it's the little thrills in life, right?) Then I move on to tackling those once-yearly, tedious, time-consuming, annoying tasks that I put off until I have absolutely nothing better to do...such as...cleaning out excess paperwork from the file cabinet...and wiping all the accumulated dust and grime from the fridge's shelves and drawers.

Finally, when all the To-Do items are checked off, I typically try to work in something just for fun...such as a Spring Break Field Trip. Without the time constraints of having to be back before the kids get home from school, I was thinking I could go somewhere more far-flung than usual....like, I don't know....maybe Charlotte! (I know, veerrrry exotic...) But then it occurred to me that we've lived here for 9 months now, and while I've pretty thoroughly explored Chapel Hill and Durham, I've never actually ventured just a wee bit farther...to Raleigh. (You know, the nearest metropolis...the capital city...that's oh, about 30 minutes away? Yeah, that's the one...) This seemed like an egregious oversight that needed to be remediated right away, so I did my little research-thing and made a list of several promising attractions I thought I'd like to see.

Now, one of the goals for these jaunts of mine is to photograph the historical landmark, or the natural scenery, or what have you. So when the day of my planned excursion dawned grey and dingy, it definitely put a damper on my agenda. "Oh well," I mentally shrugged, "it's not like this park/manor house/capitol building is getting up and going anywhere...there's always next week." Thus I addressed some of the other things I needed to get accomplished, and went about my business. However, I noticed at about 11:00 that the sun was striving valiantly to force its way through the dark blanket above me. The stiff breeze, meanwhile, seemed to be succeeding in swirling and thinning the stubborn clouds--so that in places, blue sky began to make an appearance. I watched this...atmospheric battle...with interest, but of course these things could easily go either way, so I didn't yet get my hopes up. But by the time I returned home with my grocery store purchases, the celestial star had clearly claimed victory...so I hastily packed up my stuff and headed out for a belated visit to the big city.

Since my time had been cut a few hours shorter than initially scheduled, I settled on one particular site: Oak View County Park. It is home to an old farmstead, with several of the original buildings still intact, and the newer addition of informational displays documenting North Carolina's agricultural past. (Which apparently can be summed up in two words: "cotton" and "tobacco". There, don't you feel more knowledgeable? I know I do...) One is free to study the educational material, wander about the lovely grounds, and tour several of the structures that are open for your perusal. The main living quarters are under renovation, empty of furnishings, and so only minimally engaging. But the Cotton Gin House--with its machinery, recreations of how it might have looked like when they were producing the crop back in the day, and of course helpful posters with all kinds of fascinating facts-- was totally cool. (For example, I learned more about boll weevils than one might possibly ever want to know...)

As for the natural portion of the afternoon, I enjoyed an up-close-and-personal view of the small cotton field that still remains on the property. I can honestly say that I'd never before seen the puffy white stuff during its growing process. And yes, it's pretty much exactly what it looks like: short bushes, covered in...basically what they call "cosmetic puffs" (probably because they're made out of synthetic fibers, these days)...just like you'd see in a plastic bag in the drugstore...but the real stuff is much softer to the touch. Then I meandered by the trio of goats who reside on the farm; they eyed me placidly while I lined up for a picture, but mostly ignored me, evidently deciding that their nibbles were much more enticing than whatever I was doing.

Finally, I strolled around the "pecan grove"...which I must admit I would have completely missed, had they not provided a sign that pointed the way. (Um...I wouldn't recognize a pecan tree...even if it started flinging nuts in my general direction...) According to the brochure, it's the largest such collection in Wake County, and is important because it represents crop diversification that became necessary after the devastating destruction caused to the cotton plants by that nasty boll weevil creature. Huh. Well then, consider my horizons suitably expanded...

And with that, my little farm interlude felt satisfyingly complete. Some nice walking...a dab of history...a wee bit of flora and fauna...not bad for a first stab at Raleigh, yeah? Just in time, too, since the Y-Chromosome Crew returns this afternoon. Then it's back to laundry and meal preparation and...household...nonsense. Hmm...I still have a couple of hours to squeeze in a NAP in the silent house before they get back. Win!