Sunday, May 31, 2015

Weekend Highs and Lows

Whew, what an exciting weekend; I'm exhausted! No...wait a  minute...I didn't do much at all...it was the children who were crazy busy with all the plans and get-togethers and whatnot. Therefore it stands to reason that I must be tired just from trying to stay ahead of where they were, who they were with, and what they were doing...yeah, that sounds more like it. Here's a rundown: The festivities commenced with Derek, who stopped off briefly at WestEnders HQ after school to scarf down several hundred calories, throw together a bag of necessities, and head off again to join his friends at a nearby field for their customary Friday afternoon soccer contest.

This is not always the case, but he was required to make an appearance for the evening meal this time, as it was Husband's birthday and therefore a special course was being served. (i.e. steak, which is only so verrrry rarely offered on the dinner menu in our house...about once a year, as a matter of fact...) It turned out to be a good thing we pinned him down for a short while to, you know, catch up on the details of his fulfilling life, since about a minute after the conclusion of "precious family time around the table", the doorbell rang. On the porch stood a passel of high schoolers, requesting Derek's presence for...night-time teenage boy shenanigans...or something.

I know that there was a spirited session of  FIFA 2015 on the PS3....followed by some raucous badminton in the front yard. (And I should note that by my impartial observation, they were definitely NOT adhering to the recommended decorum and standardized rules set out by the International Federation of Lawn Racquet Sports...or what have you. Let's just say there was a moderate amount of "chasing", some "flinging of shuttlecocks" and a great deal of "brandishing racquets in a disturbingly sword-like fashion". I'm currently working on the sanctions and will be handing down appropriate punishments to the offenders shortly...) Finally--just when I was about to haul him inside anyway--he showed up to shower and fall into bed at 11:00.

On Saturday things quieted down...hahahaha! First, Derek asked if he could go to a buddy's house to watch a soccer match on TV at 12:30. (Arsenal vs...some other team...probably also British, but what the heck do I know?) Then Riley reminded us that his gang was scheduled to face off in a fierce neighborhood Battle Royale...um "Capture the Flag" matchup at 3. He was gone for all of approximately 5 minutes before charging back in and announcing that they were going to a pool before their game, so he needed to change and gather the requisite supplies. Thus swim-suited and sunblocked, he vanished to go run amok on some other parent's watch for a while.

Several tranquil, nearly silent...utterly blissful hours ensued with no boys in the house--there might have been napping. There absolutely was that rarest of commodities: "relaxation". Then at some point Derek texted...to ask what time he should return for feeding. Sigh. Meanwhile, Riley called his father to report that he'd been asked to stay for dinner by one of his pals--who just happens to be a girl. He wanted to know if this would be okay. Let's see...one less mouth to shovel food into...meaning more edibles available for Derek...suuurrrre, honey, have a great time!

Speaking of which, the older child did return at the appointed hour to receive his rations. However, he would not be gracing us for long: "The guys want to know if I can come back and hang out when I finish eating." Hey, why not? I mean, I didn't have my heart set on any special Mother/Son bonding tonight, after all...sniffle. (Yeah, that was a completely fabricated Maternal Guilt Trip that I imagined, but declined to deliver in this instance. I just wanted to make sure I had one in reserve for when a situation arises that truly warrants it...) So I sent him off, decreeing that he should return for good at 10.

Next, Riley strolled in, having been escorted back to the homestead by his friend's dad. He was worn out but content after his jam-packed afternoon-'o-activities. There was nothing left for him to do but shower and plop down wearily on the sofa to view a televised sporting event with Husband. Aannd...at precisely ten p.m. my phone rang...yep, you guessed it: "They want to know if I can stay later." Here we go..."Fine, be home at 10:30." And whattya know: not too much later I glimpsed the shadowy figure of a familiar 15-year old sprinting (that kid can haul you-know-what when he has to, let me tell ya) across the lawn to burst in the door and declare his arrival. Gasping for breath, between gulps from a water bottle, he glanced at his phone and commented, "Huh...10:31...not too bad!"

"Nope, we'll call that 'on-time'", I agreed. Unfortunately, that was not to be the end of it, though. "Will I have a curfew in the Summer, when school's out?" Although this hasn't formally been discussed yet among the Cabinet (aka..."Husband and me") I felt comfortable answering unilaterally, "Um...YEAH!" He groaned in a thoroughly exasperated manner and exclaimed, "Mom! Why?" I favored him with my most potent "Are you KIDDING me with this?" glare and shot back, "Because you're 15...and there's just no reason for you to be out until eleven every night!" This earned me a disgruntled frown and a heavy sigh, but I'm sticking to my guns, here. Oh, and I guess I'd better warn the Vice President in Charge of Supporting Unpopular Policies that he should go ahead and back me up on this one. After all, this may represent the first debate on boundaries for the adolescent(s), but I'm sure it is (sadly) faaaaarrrr from the last...

Anyway, in summary, while the younger set enjoyed mingling with their peers at a variety of social gatherings...the parents led a boring, isolated weekend. What's UP with that? To be fair, we were supposed to host family friends for a barbecue on Saturday night, until we were forced to cancel when Husband came down with some kind of nasty...stomach....thingie. (Trust me, you do NOT want any more specifics...) So perhaps next weekend we'll ALL get to participate in recreational, entertaining...stuff. As long as everyone's home by 10:30, that is!


Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Can't take them anywhere (even...the kitchen...)

Over the years, I have reported oh-so-many WestEnders mealtime conversations in all their...ridiculous glory. (I know, I know, "glory" is a mighty strong word, here, but just go with it, okay?) You'll probably be pleased and relieved to hear that the topic I'm going to address today has nothing to do with any of that...ha! I had you there for a minute, didn't I? Yeah, this is yet another heartwarming family chat from a recent lunch around the kitchen table. Hey, at least--unlike almost every single other instance--this one actually centers around, you know...FOOD. So, here goes:

It's all pretty calm and normal..."dining as usual"... until the moment when Riley (eating a ham sandwich) suddenly exclaims: "Ugh, I hate it when you get a piece of bread stuck to the roof of your mouth, and you're just trying and trying to scrape it off with your tongue, and you can't get it to move."

Derek laughs unsympathetically at Riley's misfortune, while offering not even the teensiest bit of advice or support whatsoever for the sad plight of his sibling. This is, naturally, not an entirely unexpected response from an older brother...but just you wait...

After the brief hubbub settles, we enjoy several more silent minutes of companionable chewing...at which point Derek abruptly yells "Ah! Bread stuck to the roof of my mouth!" (Uh-huh...feeling some karmic repercussions from the Patron Saint of...Subs and Such...are we? It just goes to show you: beware the...Loaf-Sized Payback, my son...or...whatever...)

It seemed that Derek was receiving his consequences with interest, however, as he continued in an aggrieved tone, "It's even worse when there's dijon mustard on it, so it won't come off, and the mustard is burning...and then you've got to..." (Proceeds to make a series of absolutely disgusting smacking and slurping noises, sounding for all the world like some kind of wild animal chomping on its prey...or...possibly a teenage boy trying somewhat unsuccessfully to manage the myriad complexities of, say... "packaged sliced pork product"...)

At this point, I was equal parts horrified by Derek's atrocious display of....oh, let's just call them "shameful table manners" and leave it at that...and bemused by the new lows to which "polite discussion" have fallen in our household. But it was Riley who I believe neatly captured the absurdity of the situation when he interjected, shaking his head wryly, "Wow...bread stuck to the roof of your mouth...that's the definition of a First World Problem, right there..."

And there you have it, folks--profound truth from the mouth of an 11-year old. And I cannot disagree. What I CAN do is walk away from this silliness and go partake of my salad somewhere else...preferably a location that could be called quiet, peaceful and ...dare I say..."isolated"?! Taking utmost care to avoid angering the Patron Saint of Spinach Stuck in Your Teeth, of course...

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Kicking back...until August, anyway...

I've never really felt like the quintessential Soccer Mom...heck, I'm not sure if I even know what that actually is. I mean, yeah, I've been ferrying my kids and their gear to practice since the first one started participating in organized....running around with a ball...when he was 6 years old. And I've been on the sidelines every weekend--and some mid-week-nights--for probably 99.9% of their games, regardless of blazing heat, ferocious winds, unpleasant drizzles, or bone-chilling temps. So I guess you could truthfully conclude that our family has been arranging our lives around the soccer season...making plans and arranging activities based on match times...for quite a while. (Hold on...maybe I AM the poster child for Soccer Mom-hood...okay, then...)

Really, though, all of this was relatively uncomplicated when we lived in Maryland and the kids played for the local recreational league, where the field were all within a few miles of our house. Things got significantly more...let's just say "frenetic"....when we moved to North Carolina and faced not one, but three different levels of play, and had to sort it all out. What we've learned from our time here thus far is that unless you play the purely "for funsies" division, you're gonna do some traveling and face opposition from other area clubs outside of your own organization. This applied to both Derek and Riley last season--basically, each week we potentially had contests on Saturday, Sunday...or one of each...and up to 30 miles away, Then there was the added...joy...of Derek having 3 practices a week, 2 of which were scheduled at fields about a half-hour away. (At least Riley's were only Tuesday/Thursday...and a 10-minute jaunt.)

Well, we are now officially D-O-N-E...for a bit. Both boys' final tournaments have wrapped up, so we should all be sitting around relaxing, right? Hahahahaha, perish the thought! The Powers That Be set up Tryouts for the week immediately following the season, which I suppose makes sense, ensuring that everyone is still in shape and hasn't forgotten the fine art of how to kick a ball around. We hope Derek's trial is more of a formality, as he wants to continue with the team to which he currently belongs. And we believed...just for a hot minute...that we might be catching a real break with the other one. You see, we had discussed some potential paths with Riley, such as continuing to compete at the mid-tier--which is totally fine, of course--or maybe testing himself to see if he would qualify for the more intensive program. His initial response was dramatic and definitive, "Oh, NO! I don't want to practice that much, or travel that far...I'm just not as committed to soccer as Derek is."

Oh...kay then, dear. (We've got it; consider the subject dropped. Sheesh!) Not long after that, he even began making noises about maybe wanting to take a little hiatus from soccer...try something new...perhaps join his Middle School cross-country club instead. Honestly, he sounded just a smidge burned out. However, knowing Riley as we do, we gently suggested he go through with the auditions anyway, even if he ultimately decided he didn't want to play, just to make sure the coaches got a look at him,could accurately assess his skills, and would be able to place him should he, you know, change his mind (as he is wont to do).

He agreed, somewhat grudgingly, and trotted out there for the 3 DAYS of scrimmages. A curious change came over him during the experience, though: he seemed to be enjoying himself, and really intent on making a good showing. Then when I picked him up after the second night he dropped this doozy on me, "You know, if I make a Classic team (the top group)...I think I want to accept it." Focused on making a difficult left-hand turn at the time, I nodded absently and murmured, "Oh, that's nice, honey." Wait a minute...back up...WHAT? Holy Complete 180, Batman, what just happened? He continued thoughtfully, "Yeah, I feel like I should play to the level I'm capable of...and (here it comes) I hope I get picked. So now, from a prior state of calm, mellow, no-pressure...ness, my Maternal Anxiety shot right on up through the roof. (Sample Internal Dialogue of Doom: "Oh, dear--what if he isn't offered a spot? Will he be crushed? He says he doesn't have a good sense of how he performed during the tryouts...what if it wasn't enough? Aaargh!")

Then...we waited. The players were told at the last meeting that they'd hear in the next few days if they were selected for a Classic team. Friday, nothing...Saturday, nothing. We didn't talk about it, but the prevailing sentiment--while nevertheless still keeping our fingers firmly crossed--was that perhaps it would be the Challenge league again. Well, the email came in Saturday night at 11 p.m...designating a roster spot for him on the Porto squad. (Yeah, they're all named after real European teams). Fortunately, I didn't see it until Sunday morning, or I might have felt compelled to pounce on Riley and wake him up with the news. As it was, when I shared it with him he began caroming around the house like...some kind of spastic bunny...before taking a screenshot of the message on my phone...and posting it to his Instagram. (Kids these days...)

The bottom line for Team WestEnders (besides being very proud of him, of course) is that he'll now be jumping into the veritable whirlwind-'o-soccer where his brother already hangs out. First, we do actually get a breather; as Derek's only options in the Fall are to play for his High School or the low-key Rainbow Club. Thus we'll only have to commute all over God's Green Earth for one kid. Then...the Spring will possibly require a logistical magician (I dare you to try to say that 3 times fast)...along with a caffeine drip. We'll have 2 kids with 3 practices each, probably at conflicting times and almost definitely not in the same place...or even in proximity to each other....or anywhere near where we live. And on weekends, we might have to divide and conquer--"Which team did you see last week? Okay, let's switch. Tell the other one good luck from me!" Chaos will most certainly ensue. All I can say is...they're lucky we love them...and also the Beautiful Game!


Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Undercover...dancing

So, the other day Riley slunk into my room wearing a guarded expression. He closed the door behind him (RED FLAG! Alarm bells shrieking!) and asked in a tone of the utmost gravity, "Can we have a Mother/Son Talk?" (Aargh! This could be very bad! Or hideously embarrassing! I'm not prepared for this...I. Didn't. STUDY!) Seriously, my mind was whirling with the possibilities--he's experiencing peer pressure to try something he's uncomfortable with (I sincerely hope not; nobody's ready for that type of nonsense yet)...he has questions about a sensitive topic from Health class (Excellent! I mean, ahem, "go discuss it with your father")...or maybe he just wants some advice about how to handle a conflict he's having with a friend. (That's a fairly easy one--bring it!)

He flopped down on my bed as I braced myself for the worst. Taking a deep breath, he began, "Remember last week when you asked if I was going to the dance with someone?" I nodded affirmatively, and he continued, "Well, I said I was thinking about it...but I actually invited someone, and she said yes." Hmm...so far, not too stunning; I can totally handle this. But he wasn't finished, "So we did go together...and we've been going out for a while now."

On the outside, I made positive, supportive noises to encourage him to continue releasing the proverbial kitties from their bag. Inside, the process went something like this: Ohhhhhh....isn't THAT interesting. Hey, wait a minute--depending on how you look at it, you either pretty much lied to me...or at the very least withheld information. Whattya say we go back to the Riley who can't hold onto a secret to save his life, okay? And by the way, when did my sweet little 6th grader get all Casanova-y, asking girls out like it was NBD? Aaannd let's not even get started on the whole industrial-sized can of worms that is "dating"...in Middle School. What does that even mean? I suspect that none of us actually has a clue, truth be told. Sheesh! This is just all kinds of... disconcerting, I tell ya!

Marshaling my wayward thoughts with a herculean effort, I managed to commence with the relentless grilling--um "pleasant chat"--by requesting pertinent facts about the young lady...her name, for instance. It turns out that while they have only one class in common, they also get to hang out at recess. And in a funny coincidence, she has an older brother...who happens to share Derek's science period. So, one day when leaving the lab after the conclusion of their lecture, one Big Brother casually said to the other, "Hey, did you hear my little sister's going to the dance with your little brother?" Derek reports that his reaction was something along the lines of, "Oh reaaallllly? Thanks for letting me know...I'm gonna go home and beat the crud out of him for keeping that from me!" (Yeah, join the Need-to-Know Club, dude...kinda sucks, doesn't it? Oh, and just to be clear: to the best of my knowledge, no thrashing of any kind occurred! I'm very sure I would have heard about that....)

Meanwhile, Riley nonchalantly concluded, "So, sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you about it before." Oh, no problem, sweetie. Mom's just fiiiiiine and dandy with this news. Don't get me wrong--I'm thrilled to be in the loop. And I absolutely want you to know that if there are any mysteries about the Opposite Sex that I might be able to help clear up, I'm here for you, anytime.Now why don't you run along and bond with your dad over some...male....stuff while I attempt to  process this shocking new development. I suspect it's gonna take some time...some chocolate...and possibly a few misty moments thumbing through your Baby Book for old times' sake. Please promise me you won't grow up any more while I'm wallowing in my nostalgia, huh? Siiiigghhhh.....

Saturday, May 16, 2015

What do you get for 17?**

Seventeen years ago today I woke up like any other Saturday....oh, except for the teensy little fact that--for the first time in a decade--I had slept at my parents' house. The day got even more unusual from there, as I proceeded to do a series things that were, on the whole, extraordinarily uncharacteristic of me. I started by eating a delectable breakfast consisting of leftover cake from a special dinner I'd attended the night before. (Okay, okay, this particular behavior might not be so much of a stretch for me...) Then I hurried off with some of my closest sisters (both literal and honorary) to keep an appointment at a nearby salon, where I  had my hair curled and styled...with interwoven flowers. (Yeah, yeah, those who know me best can quit snickering now, thank you very much!) Next I sat still (ish) for a manicure. Finally, I donned a silky, lace-adorned, cream-colored gown, (and shades--hey, trust me: it was super-sunny on 5/16/98) stepped into the waiting limousine...and was whisked away to a church to join Boyfriend (soon to be promoted to Husband) and all of our collective friends and family, to participate in the sacred ritual of holy wedded matrimony...and whatnot.

So, here we are at an anniversary...and how are we marking the blessed occasion this year? Separately, that's how! Hold on, don't be concerned--it's not by choice. You see, Derek's soccer team is involved in a tournament in Wilmington, 3-hours away on North Carolina's coast. We knew this a long time ago, booked a hotel room in tandem with the rest of the players and their chaperones, and planned for the entire WestEnders crew to spend a lovely weekend together at the beach. (Whoo hoo!) But then...it rained...a LOT...this Spring. Matches got canceled left and right due to soggy fields and downpours. So the league, in all their infinite wisdom (Is the sarcasm coming through?  'Cuz I could try to lay it on thicker...) arbitrarily decided, at the last minute, to just "solve the problem" by extending the season one more week. In a nutshell, this meant that they re-scheduled two of Riley's missed games...to directly conflict with our already-arranged out-of-town agenda.

Therefore, it was voted that Husband would accompany the teenager to the Seaside Classic, while I remained in Chapel Hill to cheer on the younger son in his final skirmishes of the Spring campaign. Part of me was definitely bummed that I wouldn't be able to see Derek play--but then again, we found out that one of his contests was at 8:00 this morning, approximately a half-hour from the hotel....and we all can agree that I'm just...not at my "happiest", shall we say...when forced to crawl out of bed at the ridiculous hour of 6 a.m. (Shudder...) Also, when Husband texted to inform me they'd arrived safely, he described the establishment in which they'd be sleeping as "kind of scuzzy"...so now I'm a little bit glad I drew the Home assignment!

However, even though we're not technically "together" to celebrate, we at least managed to exchange cards...in a way. I, myself opted for the Stealth Approach, sneaking mine into his duffel bag, under a sweatshirt, after he finished packing for the trip. On the other hand, he chose to employ the Accomplice Method, leaving his in Riley's care with instructions to "put it next to the coffee maker in the morning". (How could he possibly have selected such a perfect location? Oh yeah--we've been sharing java for about 20 years now...) And Derek--who occasionally surprises me by being aware of...stuff I would have thought would go right by his adolescent boy brain--asked what we were going to do for our anniversary. Husband responded something along the lines of "Uh...I don't know..." Derek advised that we should go out to dinner...by ourselves. Husband snorted, "Yeah, right. Like you'd let us go somewhere to EAT...without you?" Derek clarified that, sure, we could totally do that....especially if we picked a restaurant that he and his brother wouldn't like anyway!

So, apparently the children--whose fault it is (indirectly) that we're operating as a Split-Squad this weekend--have bestowed upon us their blessing to go have an adults-only Date Night sometime in the near future. (We're in that Parental Sweet Spot, too: they're old enough not to need a babysitter any more...but too young for us to have to worry about even the remote possibility of them throwing crazy parties while we're gone...we'd better hurry up and enjoy the heck out of this period before it's too late...) I don't know where we're going, just yet....all I ask for is someplace with excellent vegetarian options...and awesome dessert that we can bring home for breakfast the next morning!


**I just found a website where it says--and I am not making this up AT ALL--the traditional gift for a 17th anniversary is...shells. Now, I can only assuming they don't mean, you know, the pasta type...and Husband does happen to be within reach of the shore this weekend...perhaps I should advise him to take a peaceful stroll by the ocean, find me a nice specimen, and we'll call it a day...

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Suddenly I miss the days of Matchbox cars....

I'm experiencing a strangely quiet afternoon around here--not that I'm complaining, mind you, just commenting on the unusual absence of...after-school mayhem. You see, Riley has opted to stay a couple of extra hours at school for the Spring Fling Dance. (Which, unless my calculations are incorrect, means that he has now officially attended more of these events....in 6th grade alone...than his brother did in 3 years of Middle School. Just as a historical note, you know...) He claims that he's making an appearance, not for the purpose of...boogie-ing...per se...but simply to hang out with his buddies. Mmm-hmmm....and where does the Fairer Sex fit into this equation? He was--not surprisingly--somewhat cagey on this subject when I asked him, but he casually mentioned that he had been considering asking someone, but decided against it. Okay, then...have fun...doing whatever pre-teens find amusing at these shindigs.

And Derek won't be gracing us with his presence until someone picks him up at 7:00...after his Driver's Ed session. Yep, that's right, he's currently enrolled in the course, which meets 3-hours a day, Monday through Thursday for the next 2 weeks, then 2 more days the following week to wrap up the total 30 hours...all from 4-7 p.m...after a full school day. Sounds brutal, right? Even better, for the past 2 nights I've gone to meet him at 7, bringing a supplementary snack and 40-ounce water bottle (this is on top of the full-course meal he brought to eat during instructional time) and all of his soccer gear (cleats, shin guards, rec-specs, ball, practice jersey and socks). We then sit in the car for a half-hour or so, allowing him to knock out some of his homework before I shuttle him to practice (which lasts until 9:00). When he finally arrives home, he eats (yes, AGAIN), chats for a few minutes to fill us in on his busy day, showers, finishes up any remaining school-related tasks, and falls into bed to rest up before doing it all again.

Now let's address the burning question at the forefront of all our minds: why in the name of all things right and rational is a just-barely-15-year-old being taught anything at all about the delicate and dangerous process of operating an automobile? The short answer is: because that's how it's done in North Carolina...y'all. (You're even allowed to join the sign-up list when you reach 14-years, 9 months of age, if you can believe that. Thus Derek claims he's technically "late" getting started...yeah, whatever, dude...) So anyway, wouldn't you expect them to offer all kinds of lessons about stuff like the rules of the road, safe behavior behind the wheel, what all the crazy signs mean...etc.? But on Day 1, Derek reported that they'd spent the entire time talking about (ready for this?) "not drinking and driving". Well, sure, that's critical information...but is this the most appropriate time and place for it? Between the Health Curriculum provided by the school system...and the harping (er..."guidance") he hears all the time from his Parental Units, I think we've got this one covered. However, I'd reaaallly like my kid to know the important parts of the car...and the proper technique for merging into traffic...how to assess and manage various road conditions...and whatnot.

Derek did point out that he will presumably be given these kinds of details during the On-the-Road portion of his education, which occurs after he successfully completes the classroom time. There was something else bothering me, though, which I kept to myself. However, in his next breath Derek hit it right on the head: "My friend said, 'Shouldn't they be more worried about us not drinking...at age 15...than trying to drive while drunk?'" Yep, my thoughts exactly. Which incidentally brings up another issue: I consider Derek to be reasonably mature for his age, generally pretty responsible, and usually capable of exercising sound judgment. Yet the idea of him piloting a several-ton piece of machinery...along a narrow strip of asphalt...surrounded by swarms of other navigators....scares the ever-loving bejeezus out of me.

I mean, part of me totally gets it--I grew up in a rural area, where you couldn't walk anywhere, or ride your bike to places. Heck, there wasn't even public transportation of any kind. So you relied on the Mom and Dad Taxi for years, until you could get your grubby hands on that little piece of laminated freedom and ferry yourself around. I remember so clearly how I yearned for that day, and how exhilarated I felt when it finally arrived. Aaannnnnd still...I'm pretty darn sure that this whole thing is going to make me a Certifiable Nervous Wreck. Clearly, I'm so very, VERY not ready for this step in my child's journey toward adulthood. Fortunately, we have a fairly long period of time to adjust--first, Derek can apply for his Learner's Permit after he passes both the classroom and road tests. From the day he receives the provisional license, he must drive for a whole calendar year with Husband or me as passengers in the vehicle. (I think I heard we have to keep logs of our sessions, or something--we'll cross that bridge when we... drive up to it...)

Oh, and on a related topic: a neighbor whose kid recently completed this process told us (only partially jokingly) that when you call the insurance company to let them know you'll be covering your teenage son, they send out not only an agent...but a grief counselor to help with the sticker shock. Sigh. It seems that Big Changes are afoot...or, um...wheeling our way? So...for now we'll just do our part to talk about good driving habits...and to act like positive role models in the driver's seat...and also perhaps divert some funds (from anywhere but the FOOD budget, of course) to pay the next State Farm premium...and definitely hide Derek's Need for Speed PS3 video game for a while!


Friday, May 8, 2015

The Week That Was...

Well, another week has zipped in and out of our lives...and seemingly spirited away little pieces of my brain as it fled on its way. (But I sure hope they grow back, somehow...I think I'm going to miss them...and perhaps have even MORE trouble remembering just what the heck I meant to do next...) Since I don't really have it in me today to create, you know, a "cohesive post" or anything crazy like that, what you get is a scatterbrained wrap-up of...stuff. Just deal with it...

First, just a couple of Riley...vocabulary...stories that amused us. (I know, it sounds weird....stick with me, though...) After one of his recent soccer games that ended in the evening, the very carefully-formulated dinner plan was best summed up as..."Not...Cooking." Happily, the timing coincided with Riley's big triumph in the highly competitive WestEnders NCAA Tournament bracket, for which the coveted prize is: choosing a restaurant for a dinner out. Thus we were beginning earnest discussions about where to take our hungry selves for sustenance...when Riley revealed that he wasn't really in the mood for a celebratory meal.

You see, his team hadn't played particularly well, and he was feeling a little down about his own performance on the field. However, this didn't change the fact that the rest of us were famished...and neither Husband or I felt keen on the idea of whipping up something in the kitchen at home. So we convinced him that the thing that would cheer him up fastest would definitely be dining at "fill-in-your-choice-of-eatery here". Bless his little pea-pickin' heart, he chose the newly-opened sushi place a mile from our house...where we all enjoyed some delectable Asian yumminess. Afterwards I commented how it was a good thing we hadn't canceled our plans because of his temporary funk, and Riley agreed thoughtfully, "Yeah. I'm glad you dissuaded me." You got it, honey...I'm sorry, what? (Yep, that was one of his alarmingly frequent 11-going-on-college sounding moments...)

Then the other night after an apparently tough day at the old Salt Mines--I mean "Middle School"--he was lying in bed, snuggled up in a soft, fuzzy throw blanket, clutching a stuffed frog, playing a couple of rounds of Stickman Hockey on his Kindle. He looked every bit the pre-teen boy, settled in his cozy lair, when I stopped by to check on him. Gazing up at me woozily from his cocoon he stated, "This is how I achieve...Nirvana!" Oh boy. I don't know where he gets this stuff....

Then there's Derek, who is morphing into quite the high school social butterfly. (Or, you know, whatever the male equivalent would be...) It seems to have become a new tradition that on Fridays after he's released from academia, he stops by his home watering hole for a typical snack (pretzels...cheese stick...fruit...yogurt....trail mix...no, not "some of those", ALL of them) before joining his buddies for a pickup soccer game, followed by a gathering at one of their houses to film a silly video of themselves improvising...goofy...teenage boy antics.

Often he doesn't even come home for dinner--presumably someone else's parents throw food at the ravenous pack at some point so they remain at least semi-civilized. As he so aptly summed it up as we were driving somewhere one day, "Friday's coming...that's when I ditch you guys to go hang out with my friends." I must have given him a stern look out of the corner of my eye because he added with a shrug, "Hey, I'm in high school...it's what I do!" Don't get me wrong...I'm soooo glad he's found a neighborhood posse (of what appears to be very nice, smart, athletic guys) to pal around with...and that he's already making the most of his precious high school years. But, on the other hand...my B-AAAA-B-YYYYYY is growing up! (Sighhhhhh...)

As for me, I actually got to be a grownup this week, too...when I was contacted for my first ever telephone interview. And let me tell ya, for someone who's typically not terribly fond of Alexander Graham Bell's invention, this was especially nerve-wracking. It felt like it went well, but who knows? So to keep myself from going bonkers while waiting for news, I escaped to the Botanical Gardens to stroll among the colorful blooms on a sparkling Spring Friday. Now it's time to decompress--heyyyyy, I say we declare it Mother's Day...weekend! That's it, I'm gonna start requesting the Queen Treatment...Right. About. NOW! (Is it working? Is someone bringing my fruity cocktail? Clearly, I've gotta train my minions...um, "family"...better if I want this to work...)

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Showing our colors...

A couple of years ago, the male 3/4 of Team WestEnders participated in a Color Run in D.C. with some soccer-friend-families. At the time, when faced with the logistical realities of...hauling myself out of bed at oh-dark-are-you-KIDDING-me...making the perilous (okay, not really...but long and trafficky) excursion into the city...and then trying to run at that early hour...while people threw stuff at me...I made the very rational decision to stay home and enjoy the quiet morning instead.

However, it turns out that our new hometown has their own version, called Color the Hill, with several key differences that made it worth checking out. First, it takes place on the campus of UNC, only a few miles from our front door. (Ease of attending: check) This of course leads to the added perk of not having to get up particularly early for the travel. (Reasonable schedule: check) Next, the race itself was set up to allow groups of runners to leave at staggered start times anywhere between 9:30 and 10:30. (Civilized hour to be engaging in strenuous physical activity: check) Finally, the course they chose--for whatever reason--was only 4 kilometers, rather than the standard 5K. (Easy-peasy workout: check)

So when I told the boys about it, they naturally jumped at the chance to sign up. This time we'd be attending the event as a solid unit, enjoying some valuable family bonding and all that...oh yeah, except for the fact that we still separate when it comes to the actual running, due to our different paces. But at the Start and Finish, we'd stick together...hang out with all the other colorful kooks...and soak up the goofy atmosphere. Also, we gained a member of our little entourage temporarily--a friend's daughter wanted to run, but none of the members of her own family do that sort of thing. So I volunteered to be her...Rainbow Buddy...for the morning's festivities.

Stepping outside on the day of the race to check the weather revealed perfect conditions: slightly cool and brilliantly sunny. Wearing our standard-issue white tee-shirts, armed with the protective eye gear provided by the sponsors (that would be "cheap plastic sunglasses") we made our way to UNC's cross-country trail to join in the pre-race mayhem. Clouds of multicolored dust wafted through the air as giddy participants tried to smear each other into tie-dyed masterpieces even before the starting whistle. (Or rather...a random volunteer yelling "Go"...) Seriously, you picked up an entire palette of hues just by weaving your way through the knots of people...but it didn't take long before the urge to fling your own packets of powder became undeniable. Soon we were fingerpainting one another with all the manic glee normally shown by...I don't know...sugared-up pre-schoolers after several slices of birthday cake...or something.

Eventually there was an actual, you know, race. Due to the lighthearted nature of this event, there's no "timing" or anything crazy like that. And the 11-year old I was accompanying isn't a hard-core runner anyway, so we took it pretty slow and easy. Of course, spread out along the way there are stations where volunteers toss even more of the cornstarch stuff at you, adding to the layers of primary color chaos, gradually turning the whole shebang into a kind of....mobile work of art.

This whole silly undertaking had some unexpected--but very fortunate--repercussions, though. When we reunited back at the central point after we'd all completed our heats, Husband resembled quite the...towering column of...day-glo magnificence. The emcee announced an upcoming contest involving several categories of "Most Colored" runners. At the insistence of his loving, supportive (some might say "sadistic", but wait, it has a happy ending, I promise) posse, Husband made his way forward, to the verrrrry impressive band of neon warriors clustered near the announcer.

In the Adult group, he was selected in the top 3--so far, so good. But in order to choose a winner, it was decreed that there would be...a Dance-Off. Oh. My. Goodness. Now I was feeling totally guilty for pushing my poor spouse into this embarrassing situation. I cringed as he was forced to...shake his groove thing...under the watchful eyes of a hooting crowd of strangers. (I used every ounce of restraint I possess and didn't film it...not even for a second...so at least I was proud of myself for THAT...) In the end, the merciful guy with the mic determined that each of the 3 good sports would receive a prize for their troubles.

What, you might ask, could possibly make up for having to endure this torture? Well, Husband came away with a heavy tote, chock full of books from one of the sponsors...which just happened to be The Princeton Review. Included are such titles as "Paying for College--Without Going Broke", "The Best Value Colleges", "The Best 379 Colleges, 2015" and "If the U Fits--Expert Advice on Finding the Right College and Getting Accepted". I'm sorry, but there's really only one thing to say here: SCOOOOOORE! Husband won by virtue of having the oldest child in the bunch--thus the soonest to presumably benefit from this information. (The other 2 ladies have 3-year olds, so they got...coffee mugs...) Husband was so geekily excited by his free-bag-'o-loot that it 100% cancelled out any lingering feelings of mortification. (Whew! I'm off the hook! And I'm tellin' ya, he spent the rest of the day reading selected tidbits of wisdom out loud to us. I sense this is going to be a thing, now...)

After that, there was nothing left to do but snap a few memorable photos..then take our messy selves home for one B-I-G cleanup. (After a quick stop at a nearby gas station convenience store for some cool, refreshing drinks...where our appearance caused much amusement for the clerk on duty...) I'd have to say this was an extremely successful day--there was some entertainment, some exercise, some lovely parting gifts...and apparently some assigned reading to get started on...go, team!

Before...


And after...