Monday, September 28, 2015

A Stitch in Time...

Heartwarming Sunday evening conversation in Casa WestEnders:

Derek (yelling in an aggrieved tone from the hallway): "Mooooommmmm! Riley just told me he's gonna do some...SEWING!"

Practically quivering with indignation, he huffs into the room where I'm attempting to read my book, followed by his younger brother...who--seemingly in accordance with the bold accusation that's been leveled at him--appears to be carrying a piece of felt fabric, a needle, and a length of thread.

Riley (in a mild, reasonable manner): "Hey, it's homework! I'm behind on my assignment, and I need to finish this."

Derek (working up to full-on Taunt-Your-Sibling mode): "Shut up! No one spends their free time sewing on the weekend! How are you even my brother?" And then, for his grand parting shot, he scoffs, "No wonder the girls wouldn't talk to you at the movies!"

Okay, some quick background on that: Riley was invited to go out for pizza and a showing of The Scorch Trials on Saturday night with a group of friends. The boy who initiated the plans, according to neighborhood intel, has been...ahem..."an item"....with a certain young lady "since the Summer". So the attendees included the happy couple, one of the girl's pals, Riley, and another guy they're all friends with--you know, the typical Middle School "hang out in the safety of a crowd when the Opposite Sex is involved"...thingamajig. Now you're up to speed...to continue....

Riley, for once in his life, chooses NOT to rise to the tempting-but-dangerous bait that Derek is dangling in front of him, practically daring him to blow up and start an actual scuffle that would require parental intervention. (And by the way, about that...I'm. Sitting. Right. Here...Doofus...) Instead he shrugs and says, "It's my Art class. I like it. What, you got something against the Arts?"

Derek (beginning to sputter as his argument--never that well-formed in the first place--starts to seriously run out of steam and unravel) mutters something about "girls" and "knowing how to sew"....and then trails off when he's unable to come up with anything else.

By now Riley and I have officially ganged up on the teenager, who's clearly just ranting just for the sake of stirring up trouble, without any actual basis for his claims. Riley jumps in to point out that there are, in fact, both males and females in the class, and neither gender seems bothered by the whole "sewing project" in the least. I make sure to mention that being able to--at a minimum--perform some basic tasks with a needle and thread constitutes a valuable Life Skill that he would benefit from mastering. He (somewhat desperately, I believe) attempts to counter with, "Well, does Dad know how to sew?" I assure him that his father is indeed capable of re-attaching a button....and perhaps repairing a seam. (Although I'm not totally certain about that...but it sounded good, and supported my side of the story, so we'll go with it, yeah?)

He suddenly laughs, "If a button fell off...I'd probably just try to glue it back on! That would look great, right....if a suit jacket lost a button and I tried to stick it in place?" I (slap my forehead and) reluctantly admit that there are professionals who will take care of all kinds of...clothing-related issues...but you do have to pay them. "Oh, that's fine, then," he says breezily, "I'll just do that!"

Siiiiiggghhh. On the plus side, the potential for a Brother Brawl was effectively defused by this ridiculous little chat. However...the list of Things I Must Teach Derek Before College just keeps growing. At this rate, we're going to have to devise our very own Survival Course to test Derek on his ability to exist outside his home...where so far in his life, his mother and father have prepared his meals, washed his clothing...and fixed his occasional misplaced button problem. Alrighty, then...Household Chores 101...coming soon to a kitchen....and laundry room...near you!

Friday, September 25, 2015

Why? Because it was there...

Sometimes, you just have to shake up the routine a little bit...which makes it sound like I actually had a choice, when in truth I was really subject to the whims of the ever-so-fickle dame we all know as Mother Nature. What I'm trying to say is: given the wet and blustery forecast for today, I had to go with the relatively unheard-of Wednesday Field Trip. (Yep, that's me....livin' on the edge all the way, baby...or, you know...whatever...)

I decided to take a short jaunt to a nearby town that goes by the improbable moniker of Saxapahaw. Because seriously, how could you NOT visit such a place, simply based on the name alone? But wait, it gets even better! In order to travel to this little piece of rural North Carolina, you must spend time on a lovely byway called...Swepsonville Saxapahaw Road. Holy Tongue Twister, Batman, can you imagine for a second if you lived somewhere along that stretch of pavement? I mean, does anyone actually try to squish that onto an envelope? How would that even fit on a return label...or a pre-printed form of any kind? I swear, I'd get a P.O. box just so I never, ever had to resort to spelling the location of my house! Even worse--what about the poor children? Possible school scenario: The Kindergarten teacher announces that it's time to practice basic items like your address and phone number. "So, where do you live, honey?" "Oh, I have no idea--my mom told me not to bother trying to pronounce it until at least 3rd grade..."

Okay, that rant lasted approximately as long as the actual drive...and much, MUCH longer than it took to whiz right through the place...completely failing to recognize it because, well,  there's not so much there. Yeah, it's one of those charming...minuscule..."blink and you'll miss it" kinds of locales. Once I realized my mistake, turned around, and parked, I surveyed the landscape. All 1-block of it. I spotted crowds of students milling about, from what I looked up later and found out was a public charter school. And there's an old-timey general store, with an interesting mixture of modern-day snack foods and beverages; locally sourced artisan items such as chipotle flavored honey, handmade small-batch barbecue sauces, and fresh bakery bread; and a deli counter where you could order customized sandwiches and the like.

For the obligatory (brief) history portion: the town was supposedly settled by the Sissipahaw tribe, of which little is evidently known. On the banks of the Haw River, it was the site of a working cotton mill from 1848 until the building was damaged by a tornado in 1994. A hydroelectric power plant was later added (circa 1938) and continues to produce energy to this day. After the mill's demise, it was refurbished into its current state, in which it houses apartments, restaurants, and businesses. You can still go kayaking or canoeing on the waterway if that's your thing...although with our recent dry conditions the part of the river that I could see appeared distinctly more "rocky and treacherous" than "flowing and fun". I chose instead to enjoy a leisurely stroll along a nice wooded trail, parallel to the water, shady and cool.

Aaaannnnd...that's about all there is to tell, folks. As excursions go, I have to admit it was...ahem...not among the most exhilarating ones I've taken, for sure. But it provided an excuse to escape the house for a couple of hours...take some photos...get a little exercise...commune with the Great Outdoors. And now, if anyone ever asks, I can proudly proclaim that yes, indeed, I have been to Saxapahaw!


Monday, September 21, 2015

It's 8:00--do you know where your children are? Yeah, me neither...

Now, I know everyone has their own version of "It's a Crazy Life"....but for me, this week is one of those that threatens to just possibly push me over the edge (of, you know, a pitcher of margaritas...or something similar...) So, I freely admit that my motivation for sharing the following list is partially illustrative...but also to attempt to prevent me from spacing on my overlapping responsibilities, and thereby either forgetting to retrieve someone, or showing up at the wrong place...or time...or day...or what have you. Here's the scoop:

Monday: I accepted an extra interpreting assignment this week, which necessitated me figuring out the location of yet another campus near Raleigh, 40 minutes away from home. As I've said before, it's not a difficult commute traffic-wise, since I arrange my hours to avoid morning and evening crush time...but it's still a LOT of miles each way. When I arrived home, I had a few moments to eat a late lunch before packing up the snacks and water I had volunteered to provide, and hauling them over to Riley's Middle School, for them to be loaded onto the bus and taken with the cross-country team to their Away Meet. Then, at some as-yet-undetermined time in the evening, the runners will return and need to be picked up. (I should be grateful, really, as it could be even more complicated...if Riley actually had time to attend his regularly-scheduled soccer practice this evening...which thankfully he does NOT...)

Meanwhile, Derek will be proceeding with his own travel plans--the High School soccer squad has a match in a town about 20 minutes away. Afterwards, they tend to stop for food--the demands of a bus-ful of ravenous teenagers NOT to be denied--so we don't actually know when he'll be back, either. This is the Greater Purpose of texting technology, am I right, folks? Oh, and speaking of electronic communication, I heard from my beloved eldest son a little while ago...he wanted to know when dinner would be ready. It seems that he failed to bring the $10 bill I dug out of my wallet (which represented every last bit of the cash I had on hand, by the way--willingly sacrificed for my child...she says with a martyred sigh...) and handed him LAST NIGHT so he could purchase junky sustenance at whatever fast food joint they decided to patronize on the way back to school. (Ah, the adolescent boy brain strikes again...)

Okay, then...Tuesday: (Wait, we're only up to Tuesday? Sheesh, I'm getting tired already...) I have my normal workday, beginning with one class in the morning at the Health Sciences Campus, then driving a half-hour to Main Campus for an afternoon class. Then the requirements are pretty light--just picking up each boy after their respective practices, cross-country for Riley and soccer for Derek. (I should also note, here, that the Middle School is pretty much across the street from our neighborhood...and the High School is a 5-minute drive. So at least the "time spent in a vehicle" is happily minimized. Thank goodness for small favors, yeah?)

Wednesday: (aka "Harried Hump Day") Let's see, where shall I begin? Riley has cross-country practice right after school, until 4:45. Then he'll be whisked home to change into a dry shirt, (even if only briefly) eat a banana, gather his soccer gear, and head back out to the soccer field for his second training of the day. Derek will remain at school, as his team will host another soccer game. Unfortunately I won't be able to watch this one, since my dance class meets from 6:15 to 7:15. Oh, and I certainly hope that either Husband or a teammate will be available (and remember) to transport Derek at 6:45-ish...and Riley at 7. ('Cuz I'll be busy gettin' my groove on...and nothing is gonna interrupt that, let me tell ya!)

Thursday: (Yay, we're getting there!) I'll be at work again--longer day, same commuting arrangements. Riley will board an activity bus to compete in another cross-country meet, 20 minutes away. Derek will be done at the usual 5:45 with his team training. And Riley will presumably give us a jingle when they're close to pulling in to the parking lot, so someone can hustle over and chauffeur him back to Casa WestEnders.

Friday: (WE MADE IT...ALMOST...) Hmm, today's agenda is actually pretty simple. (I know, I know, "don't jinx it"!). Sometime during the appointed hours I need to pop over to UNC to pick up my race packet. That's right, I'm doing a 5K all by myself, because no one else was interested this time, what with all of their sports commitments and whatnot. (Hey, I usually run these things without my family anyway, since I'm the slowest among us. I probably won't even notice the difference!) Then we're all trooping over to East Chapel Hill High School to support our Chapel Hill Tigers in the fiercely anticipated, heated- rivalry-rematch soccer game. Things are always a bit...tense...when these 2 squads face off, so it should be a good show.

But wait, the fun and excitement continues on...Saturday: Well, Derek pretty much gets to lounge about and recover from his week. However, Riley has a soccer game in the early afternoon (about 20 minutes away, which is No Big Deal, considering how distant some of the fields they have us using are). And Husband has his own match in the early evening as well. (Very local...lucky duck...but are you noticing the development of the "20 minutes away" theme? No idea why all of the venues are located on an imaginary circle with that radius...or why my brain just went all Math Geek on me, for that matter. Questions to ponder while cruising back and forth--in our abundance of Automobile Downtime--perhaps!)

Finally, (at long last, hallelujah!) Sunday comes along. Oh, wait...that's when I'll be running 3.1 miles at 9 a.m. (Eh, the way I look at it, I'm done with my exercise requirements for the day...before breakfast. Plus, I get a t-shirt! And hopefully, yummy nibbles afterwards....) Then Riley has A-N-O-T-H-E-R soccer game. (Is this sounding like the proverbial broken record yet? And could we possibly update that ancient metaphor, already? Jeez, today's youth don't even recognize what that means! But I digress...) This one happens to be all the way in Raleigh, so Husband graciously offered to take the escort duties and give me a pass. (Besides, I went to this particular sports complex just last weekend--technically, it must be his turn, right? To sweeten the deal: last time we were there, I got valuable intel from a fellow team parent about the most a--ma--zing Sheetz, right around the corner, providing a heavenly array of post-workout energy bars and icy cold drinks for the long drive home. So really, he's all set...)

Ta da! Finished! But wait just a minute...now Monday is looming...and it's time to get back on the hamster wheel and do it all again. AAARRGGHHH! Even worse, I just realized I somehow neglected to pencil in the all-important Margarita Break! That's it, I'm writing it in permanent marker for the coming week...now, has anyone seen my planner?

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

And now, just for a change of pace... (Sorry!)

Well, it turns out that Riley wasn't bluffing--he went ahead and joined his middle school's Cross-Country Club. (Luckily it's muuuuch less expensive...or exclusive...than the pool/golf/tennis type of country club!) Now, everyone in the family actually runs....just not in any kind of what one might call a..."formal way". You see, we each have our own style--Husband and Derek prefer to lope along on forest paths, while for me, it's gotta be asphalt all the way, as tree roots and uneven terrain and hidden rocks would surely make up a recipe for "one sprained ankle" just begging to happen. And of course we run at very different speeds, with per-mile times varying from 7-8 minutes (yeah, the whippersnappers) to somewhere slightly over that (Husband) to about 9-1/2. (Right, that's me...and I'll stick to slow and steady, thank you very much...the only exception being MAYBE if something large and hungry is chasing me...and even then, I'd try to exercise the "hide" maneuver before the "sprint" option if at all possible...just sayin'...) Then there are those...intangible preferences--you know, like whether to wear those trendy compression socks or not ("yes" for the old folks, "heck no" for the youth) and whether you enjoy conversing whilst chugging along ("absolutely not, as I'm quite busy enough right now with coordinating the breathing and pumping the legs and whatnot" for me...."eh, sure, why not" for the Male Posse).

So I wondered what it would be like for him on an actual team of runners, who train together every day with a coach who guides their workouts to prepare them for meets. What I've gotten from Riley so far is that it's enjoyable (he has several friends on the team, which might have influenced his decision to give this a try) as well as exhausting. They do long runs, short runs, graduated speed intervals, sprints, strengthening, stretching...and maybe some other fancy professional-runner-type-stuff, for all I know. All I can be totally certain about is that we pick up an extremely sweaty, tired boy at 4:45 every day, and bring him home to shower, eat dinner, attack his homework....and shuffle around the house like it's almost too much effort to get to his room and collapse on the bed at the end of his day.

Then yesterday, they finally got to have a real meet for the first time this season (an "away" contest having unfortunately been cancelled due to thunderstorms last week). I planned to attend, although I wasn't sure what to expect at all when I showed up at the park they use for their course, which is pretty much across the street from the school. What I initially noticed was the surprisingly large crowd...of spectators. Granted, this was a match between 2 local rival schools, but still--lots and lots of parents (and a few siblings) turned out to watch the proceedings.

Next, I realized that the teams themselves had quite a few runners--there were just over 100 kids, all together. While some of them were verrrry TALL (I'm guessing most likely 8th graders), there were a few tiny competitors in the mix as well. (And please don't get me wrong, I'm not making fun of them--on the contrary, I'm positive that they're ALL still faster than me, regardless of their size!) It appeared that the route circled the baseball field in front of us, then went off into the woods for a spell, before returning to lap the diamond once more--so we'd basically see the start and finish of the race from where we stood. Okay, then...good enough for me...sooooo...I'll just hang out here and...wait for the kids to magically emerge from the trees...right, and clap enthusiastically for the red jerseys...and maybe yell some encouraging words. "Um...keep it up! Nice....running! You've got this!" Or something along those lines...

The girls did their heat first, and while I have no earthly idea how the scoring works for one of these things, I can tell you that the first 2 finishers (FAR out in front) were from the guest school, and the next oh, 10 or so were from Riley's squad. Apparently, that bodes well for the final tally--where they calculate times and order of completion and....grade point average? (Planetary rotational factor? Seriously, your guess is as good as mine...) Then the boys got out there to do their thing, and I was able to at least see Riley off on his journey....then twiddle my thumbs for a bit...then catch sight of him again as he crested the final rise for a bold dash to the endline. Once they recorded his time, he seemed pretty psyched, since he'd come in faster than the personal goal he'd set for his first attempt.

We got an email the next day with scores (which I STILL don't even remotely understand, so I'll be more than happy to take their word for it) and Riley's estimated time for the 1.86 mile course was 14 minute, 16 seconds, coming in 27th out of 79 boys. But even better was a nice little shout-out from the coach about several newbies--Riley included--who had bested their own 1-mile times from when they were measured 2 weeks ago. Well, then...I suppose he's found yet another reason to run around in the grass (and, um, "dirt paths"), besides soccer! No rest for the weary, however, as his next meet is TOMORROW...and this time, I'll be a total veteran on the sidelines....I'll have my "real camera" since I'll know where and when the best photographic opportunities are likely to occur...and I'll have a better repertoire of pep-talk lines prepared..."Push it! Move those feet! You'll never make it to the snacks at this rate!" (Um...yeah, I'll go work on it...)


Thursday, September 10, 2015

Dressed for success...or at least "successfully dressed"!

I've always loved the Fall--the spectacular colors, the oh-so-welcome cooler air that arrives after a long, steamy Summer...the undeniable thrill of Back to School Shopping. I distinctly remember perusing frivolous fashion magazines as a teenager, excitedly imagining new outfits, checking out what was in style that year, planning the trek through the department store. (Um...not that it ever amounted to anything, really, as I pretty much dressed how I wanted, without any regard whatsoever for the latest trends. But I sure as heck had fun flipping those pages, I tell ya...) So I now find it a bit of a mixed blessing...and curse...that I have sons...with--what's the most infinitesimal number you can think of?--THAT amount of interest in any kind of new apparel.

In August, when I asked the obligatory question, "What do you need, to begin the school year?" they shrugged--actually lifted their shoulders with an incomprehensible amount of supreme indifference--and uttered something along the lines of, "Eh...nothing....or maybe socks and underwear. I'll check later." I swear, they are absolutely No. Fun. At. All. So it came as somewhat of a surprise when I picked Derek up from soccer practice the other day and he said in a warning tone of voice, "I just want to give you an early heads-up: the Captains decided that we're wearing full-dress-clothes for Friday's game...so we'd better plan accordingly."

Now, let me just say how much I appreciate his forward thinking...keeping us (me) from having to run around like crazy people at the last minute...because of course, the boy doesn't own even a stitch of what you'd call "formal wear" (or even, you know "slightly less casual than athletic shorts and tee-shirts...wear"). So we called a sort-of-emergency 3/4 Team WestEnders Meeting (Riley didn't really need to be involved in this matter...but he came along anyway, as an interested--or perhaps "nosy"--party) to take the first step: surveying the contents of Husband's closet. A quick try-on revealed that while Derek and his father are almost the same height, and similar in build...the older man's still got about 20 pounds on the not-quite-finished-growing-adolescent. Thus the Dockers, with the pleated front, appeared....well, the best way to describe it would be...ahem..."MC Hammer-like" on Derek. (So that quickly earned a big NO WAY from me...who would prefer not to send her child to school in balloon pants, looking like an escaped circus clown...or something.)

Moving on, the dress shirts are also a smidge baggy, but it's not as noticeable, and therefore will suffice. And ties...are ties...so he can just pick one off the rack of available options in Husband's collection and be done with it. Finally, the shoes presented a potential problem--mostly because Derek finds his dad's footwear to be 1) uncomfortable and 2) definitely not to his taste. So, with the preliminary evaluation completed, I took the boy off to Kohl's in search of one pair of nice trousers for sure, and a pair of non-sneakers if appropriate choices presented themselves. (Possibly limited by time constraints, with our only window to accomplish this errand being 8 p.m. on Wednesday night, after his practice and my dance class had concluded.)

I'd like to mention here that I offered to purchase him his OWN button-down shirt, and a tie that he actually got to pick out himself...but he flatly refused. In fact, he scoffed at me when I suggested these things, as if I were being unbelievably foolish. "Why would I want you to spend money on those? I don't care!" I admit that I was caught between exasperation at my...anti-sartorial....rebel...and amusement at how vehemently opposed he was to the whole "wardrobe investment" thing. But I let it go, because we had much bigger challenges awaiting us--specifically, how to find items to properly fit someone who has to shop in the Men's Section due to his vertical size...but for the life of him can't get pants to stay put around his non-existent hips. Seriously, within minutes it became clear that what he truly needs is about a 28 waist...coupled with a 32 length. This, my friends, I am sad to inform you, simply does not exist.

So we settled for the next best thing: 29/32...coupled with a spiffy new BELT. (He didn't balk at this, as he readily admitted it was an absolutely necessary item...you know, to avoid the very real danger of inadvertently displaying your undies for the entire student body....and whatnot...) Alas, the quest for shoes proved fruitless, and the hour was creeping too late for us to venture anywhere else, so that particular task will have to be postponed until another trip on a different day. But for now, at least he can coordinate an ensemble that will pass muster...and look pretty sharp...for school on Friday. Yeah, it definitely didn't compare to the early Fall mall-roaming experiences of my youth...but I'll take what I can get and call it a WIN!

Saturday, September 5, 2015

And now I'm probably scarred for life...

I feel I must begin today's narrative with a Disclaimer, in the interest of fairness...and full disclosure... and all that official blah blah blah you sometimes encounter on warning labels and such. So here goes: if you choose to continue, you will have the opportunity to laugh at me, for sure. But you may also shiver...or slam the browser closed (or, you know "click it shut with authority"...loses a bit of the impact, though, doesn't it?)...or even run squealing from the room. It's up to you. Go forth at your own risk.

Okay, let's move on, shall we? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that I'm FAR from alone in my aversion to all things creepy-crawly. Me and bugs, we don't get along--I don't even like to get close enough to kill them, once they get past a certain size (that would specifically be "tiny and non-threatening"....after which they firmly fall into the broad category of "Husband's Problem"). However, when we moved to North Carolina, we ran into a whole new kind of nightmare that we'd never experienced in our previous home, and they look like this:

Right? SUPER INCREDIBLY ICKY just about covers it. Because we live in a very wooded neighborhood, and our own house is surrounded by trees, one of the first things we did was to hire a Pest Company to fortify the defenses, as it were (or, um...spray around the perimeter every few months and keep those horror movie creatures the heck OUT of the...castle). We asked about these, and were told they're just cockroaches, drawn to damp conditions...like the clay soil in the Carolinas, and the humid environment. Oh...awesome. So, when they mistakenly wander inside (I guess their Insect GPS leads them astray on occasion...) they try to seek out water, which is why you'll most often find them in the bathroom or kitchen.

This was certainly valuable information, for which we were grateful...but let me tell you the real kicker: those suckers can get freakin' H-U-G-E. We're talking 1-2 inches long...and they scurry across a floor faster than you can grab something sufficiently big and weighty to squash them. Furthermore, if all that weren't bad enough, the final insult is that of course you only see them at night. (And speaking of that, why is everything so much more terrifying after the sun goes down? It's not like the stupid things gain extra-special...buggy powers...in the dark. But my personal critter-fighting courage most definitely drains away without the presence of gamma rays....or some such nonsense...)

Anyway, luckily we generally only have to deal with a couple of the misplaced explorers each month--which I ascertain based on the fact that I'll be somewhere in the house and hear a roof-shaking crash, followed by an absence of screaming, so I know no one's hurt themselves. This indicates that Husband has bravely dispatched an intruder, typically using the largest nearby book he can get his hands on, since we don't keep shoes in our sleeping quarters. However...one recent evening, around 11 o'clock...I entered my bedroom...switched on the overhead light...and came face to..shell (SHUDDER)....with an enormous specimen...ON....MY...BED. Oh, you have GOT to be &%$#@ KIDDING me!

I was utterly frozen, locked in place in the doorway with my mouth hanging open...as he wiggled his disgusting antennae brazenly at me, and bolted for cover under the bed frame. Remember that all the footwear is in a closet downstairs, so I cast about for a weapon. Well...first I yelped...when this brought no knight in shining armor charging to my rescue, I knew I would be forced to fend for myself. (Husband was working just yards away in his office on the first level....yet somehow managed to remain oblivious to my plight...hmmm....) Not wishing to sacrifice my own reading material (Hey, I paid for those hardcovers!) I grabbed something borrowed from the library. (This is exactly why they have those protective plastic covers on them, am I right?) When the ferocious beast--moronically--ventured out into the open again a moment later, I slammed the novel down on it triumphantly. However, there's carpet on the floor, so I figured it might not be enough...so for good measure, I decided to (gingerly) STAND on the book as well.

Feeling shaky but relieved that the whole incident was over, I went off to watch TV for a while. (Okay, okay--I was avoiding picking up the...remains...which is my second least favorite part of slaying dragons...I mean "insects"...) When I came back, I took a deep, steadying breath....leaned back away, as far as possible...reached out with one toe...and kicked the book. And then gave an embarrassingly shrill, girly shriek as the prehistoric monster took off again, seemingly unimpaired in the least little bit from his interlude of...literary imprisonment.

Well...DANG IT! Now, besides still suffering from a major case of the heebie jeebies, I was also royally pissed. So I stomped down to the shoe repository, selected what I deemed to be a probable...deliverer of cockroach deathblow...and returned to the scene of the siege. The enemy had this time retreated behind the dresser...but once again it reappeared after a short time...to hightail it into the bathroom. HA! Nowhere to run now, oh most idiotic of bugs--you've put yourself into a one-exit situation, with an unforgivingly hard tile floor on which to meet your demise. My victory is all-but-assured!

So...it kept going, to the back wall...where it sought refuge behind the only possible hiding place available: the toilet brush in the corner. Thus ensued a real, live, Mexican Standoff...with one of us too microscopic-brained, and the other too stubborn...to back down. I gathered myself for the final campaign...then reached out with the sneaker...and rattled the container that was harboring our fugitive. It came plowing....right toward me, naturally, as I've already mentioned there was nowhere else to go. Somehow I pulled off the feat of leaping into the air, quaking from head to toe, and letting out one more distressed squawk...before decisively hauling off and beating the everloving CRUD out of Senor Cucaracha, once and for all.

Breathing heavily, sweating freely, I nevertheless savored my sweet, satisfying success. That is, right up until the moment (a few short seconds later, to be exact) that I realized I still had to dispose of the carcass. And trust me when I tell you that these things are so...large and crunchy...that, even using a whole wad of tissue...touching them in any manner makes me squeamish. So I took the lily-livered way out: one full sheet of paper towel tossed over the deceased....then the whole package grasped with long-handled barbecue tongs...and held at arm's length from my body as I delicately escorted it to the trash can.

Then, spent-yet-wired from the adrenaline-fueled battle, I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning and unable to calm down enough to drop off to sleep. Sigh. The next day, besides calling in our Anti-Pest Guy for a reinforcing treatment, I also made a trip to Lowe's for some extra protection. What I ended up purchasing were those little boxes they cutely call "roach motels", to place inconspicuously in the bathrooms. But I found myself wondering, as I read the package description, "What entices the bugs to go into this particular establishment? Did they get a good deal on Expedia? Were they promised a free continental breakfast with their stay? 'Cuz boy, are they gonna be disappointed!" Whew...clearly the lack of rest was catching up to me at this point. I tell you what--the next uninvited visitor...I'm just yelling one time...for Husband to come take care of it!

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Middle School Mania

Now, turning our attention to the 7th grader, we have the Riley Update. Let's begin with a soccer-related tale that involves...practically FIFA-level ineptitude, in my opinion (even if not, you know, the corruption and scandal of the paid professional footballers). Waaaay back in the balmy Spring, Riley went through a 3-day tryout with all the rest of the kids who wanted to play for the local league, and was selected for a traveling team. He was flattered and excited, and accepted the position. Shortly thereafter we got a welcoming email from his coach, with an attached roster of his fellow U12s. All seemed well. Sadly, that was but a temporary illusion.

We went through the Summer thinking that practices would be starting the week of August 3rd...because that's the only information we'd been given. (Silly us! To believe that we'd actually be told...important-type stuff!) As the date approached and we hadn't received any further word on practice days, times, or venues, I attempted to contact the coach--and got no reply. So in confusion, I tried the league commissioner for Riley's age group...and only then did we find out that his team had folded. I'm sorry, WHAT? Apparently, they lost their coach, only 8 boys actually paid and registered...and a bunch of other official mumbo-jumbo. The proposed solution was to split the remaining kids onto the other 2 teams. However, since their rosters were already full, this would require moving players up the ladder into higher tiers to make room. Ay yi yi, it was a regular old fiasco, I tell ya.

I short, the nonsense continued for 3 WEEKS while Husband and I peppered the Commish with emails and phone calls (few of which he deigned to answer) asking for Riley to be placed with someone...anyone....so he could meet his new squad and start A) getting to know them and B) kicking the ball around and having some fun, for crying out loud. But as luck would have it (or fate, or who knows, perhaps a Higher Power happens to be a fan of the Beautiful Game) he sent us to the wrong field one time, to find the team Riley would supposedly be joining. Instead, we encountered a U13 group...who also belonged to a different level within the league. It was all good, though, as Riley instantly recognized a handful of the guys on the field from school--and their coach was kind enough to let him practice with them anyway.

As it turned out, the answer was right there in front of us. You see, Riley has a late birthday, (relative to the school term, anyway) making him always one of the youngest kids in his grade. In Maryland, the soccer organization arranged kids by their academic year, regardless of when they were born, so you would be with your peers by default. In North Carolina, however, Riley's August birth missed the cutoff in their system...forcing him to play with kids a year lower in school. We didn't even know it was possible to request that he "play up"...but once we figured this out, he happily slipped into the U13 ranks and--fiiiiiinallllly....yay!!--had a new team. (And so far, they--coach, parents, players--seem universally great. Let the games begin!)

MEANWHILE, he came home from school on the second day and handed me a stack of papers. "Here you go, these are what you need to fill out and sign for me to participate on the cross-country club," he matter-of-factly stated...while I gaped at him in bewilderment. "Let me just get this straight...you're going to run cross-country...AND play soccer?" He nodded coolly, "Sure!" Oh...kay. He had threatened--um "contemplated"--doing this, so it wasn't completely out of the blue. But the fact that he actually followed through came as a bit of a...surprise. So now he works out with the runners every day after school until 4:45. And 2 evenings a week, he pretty much comes home, grabs a small snack, and goes back out to zip around in the grass with a ball for another hour and a half. Yep, that's gonna be one ultra-fit...and super-duper-exhausted...kiddo!

Finally, there's been just a wee bit of upheaval in his academic scene...which is kind of my fault, if you think about it. You see, last year I pushed for Riley to be offered what they call Compact Math here--basically an accelerated program. I figured, analysis and computation have always been some of his strengths, and I want him to be challenged to the best of his abilities, yadda yadda yadda. Unfortunately, timing-wise, I made this request toward the end of the school year. So when the teachers went on their well-earned break, there was no guidance available to help us get him ready for the change. We knew he might have "gaps" in his learning since he wasn't in the class last year...but we didn't know what, exactly, to focus on to remediate this. So we decided to just let it go and enjoy the hiatus...and figured we'd pay the...Mathematical Piper...when our number was up in the Fall. (Ha! Sorry...)

Now we're embroiled in the first unit...and there are indeed...some struggles. But the good news is: at least for right now, it's ALGEBRA, which I just loooooove. I mean, it makes sense...there's a logical sequence to solving the equations...you get an actual answer...and you can check it to see if you're correct! What's not exciting about that? (I know, I know..."control freak" and "nerd" all wrapped up together...I'm okay with that...) I don't quite have the heart to wreck his world by sharing my own personal feeling that, after this, it gets all...abstract...and weird...and darn-near incomprehensible with Calculus (shudder) and whatnot. Nope, let's just live in the moment, and address such delightful little puzzles as: 2n/5 + 6 = 10....or this one -18 = 5r/2 + 12. See? Isn't that awesome?

Whew...I'm wiped out just trying to keep track of what's going on in the Life of Riley. Speaking of which...where IS he? Oh yeah...today's Wednesday, which means it's almost time for me to pick up one verrrry sweaty young man from soccer practice. And then, if fortune favors us this evening...another round of...Numberpalooza! Yippee!!!!