Sunday, November 29, 2015

My new pal...Charlotte

So, there I was, soaking up the stillness in my quiet house, relishing the brief period of solitude that is awarded to me once or twice a year...when I recognized the stirrings of a familiar, undeniable urge beginning to overtake me. That's right, the Travel Bug was whispering in my ear, "It's time to get the heck out of Dodge. C'mon, you know you want to...just gooooo!" Well, who am I to ignore such a clear and compelling mandate, really?

And that's how I found myself throwing together a little overnight jaunt to Charlotte, a heretofore unexplored (by us, anyway) city about 2 hours down Route 85 to our southwest. Armed with a list of potentially interesting sites that might be worth checking out, and having secured a ridiculously-sale-priced hotel room--presumably due to holiday vacancies they were trying to fill--I packed a bag and got underway.

My first destination was the Latta Plantation, which actually lay in a town called Huntersville, in the northern part of Mecklenberg County. They were re-enacting "One Hundred Years of Christmas", with the focus on the Colonial, Regency, and Victorian eras (1768-1868, to be specific. Thank goodness for informative brochures). Many of the buildings--the main house, separate kitchen structure, slave quarters, and mercantile cabin--were decked out in historically-appropriate festive fashion. All over the grounds, volunteers in authentic period costume answered questions and gave demonstrations, such as roasting a whole chicken on a spit over a fire (very smoky), playing yuletide tunes on homemade instruments (surprisingly melodic), chopping wood using an ax (exhausting, I'd wager), weaving a rug on an old-fashioned loom (incredibly impressive and complicated), and loading Civil War rifles (um...dangerous and scary). There was even a suitably jolly Saint Nick wandering around, to the delight of the hordes of young visitors.

As you can imagine, that was all super-gratifying to a history nerd like myself. Once I'd had my fill of the farm, as it were, I headed for my next stop, a compound dedicated to President James K. Polk. When I arrived, however, I found it closed, with no explanation provided. (Everyone's gone shopping on Black Friday? Who knows...) Eh, it wasn't like he was one of the more significant past leaders of our country, right? No great loss--scratch that one off and move on to the next option: checking in to my home for the evening. While I don't need to bore anyone with every tiny detail, it was definitely among the nicest hotels rooms I've ever rented. Glass shower, wet bar (sans alcohol, but swanky nonetheless), sectional sofa...suffice it to say that I felt quite pleased...and spoiled...during my short stay.

As an unexpected bonus, it was situated very near one of the main avenues into downtown, making my subsequent activity an easy choice. One thing that I noticed very quickly that's pretty cool about Charlotte is that it has a high-profile skyline, due to some soaring skyscrapers clustered in the heart of the business district. Therefore, approaching it from either a highway or a through-street, as I was, you have an extremely visible landmark towards which to point yourself. On the other hand, despite the tall buildings and urban bustle, it somehow gives the impression of being a small-ish, pedestrian-friendly place. In fact, I parked my car (in the Bank of America Tower...60 stories and the loftiest one of the bunch) and left it as I wandered around the entire central area on foot.

I had a grand old time peering into shops, admiring the twinkling lights that were already installed for the upcoming season, (and speaking of which) watching a crew assemble a large artificial Christmas tree in the retail district...photographing interesting architecture. (Hey, I'm just a regular tourist with a camera when I go on a field trip, what can I tell ya?) I even managed to meander into a couple of the picturesque older neighborhoods--such as Dilworth and the 4th Ward--to ogle the charming 19th-century homes and peaceful sidewalks lined with stately, mature trees. The most fascinating thing about these was that if you just lifted your eyes a fraction toward those treetops, your gaze crashed right into the aforementioned modern-day edifices, looming hugely in the background, mere steps away. I found the juxtaposition of classic and ultra-newfangled to be an appealing quirk of Charlotte's personality.

Finally, the setting sun clued me in to the fact that I needed to get moving toward my final engagement of the evening: the Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden, which supposedly offered a fancy light display in honor of the imminent season o'celebrating. I programmed my GPS to get me there, and started the trek...but after a while, I couldn't help feeling that I was going....out into the Middle of Nowhere? The kind of place where, you know, you can dump a body...and no one would ever find it? (Not from experience, mind you, just as a METAPHOR. Sheesh, people...) I just pictured pulling up to this rinky-dink, sketchy little outpost...being the only one there...and panicking, turning around and fleeing for my life. So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I--at long last, it seemed--approached the entrance....and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The path leading in beckoned with sparkling tree-shaped light fixtures. The parking lot, far from the deserted scene I'd been dreading, overflowed into an adjacent field, where extra rows had been cordoned off to accommodate, apparently, the enormous amount of guests they were expecting.

And the line? Let's just say it was reminiscent of, maybe, Disneyworld, wrapping around the front of the Visitor's Center, winding through several lanes of rope. (Oddly enough, I didn't mind, as this appeared to indicate that the whole thing would be worth it when I made it in there. I did hear several folks joking about needing a Fast Pass. Alas, there was no such thing...so we waited....) Once you gained admission....it was sooooo awesome. Everything was constructed of lights--palm trees and a grape arbor and flowers and...lots of other stuff. All of the permanent features, like the pond and several bridges, were also adorned with an array of dazzling lights and colors. Everywhere you turned, there was something beautiful for your eyes to feast on, while you oohed and aahed in wonder (Yep, "big kids" too).

At the end of a very full and satisfying day, the oasis--um "hotel"--was calling my name. I'd earned some rest, before tackling one more item on the Charlotte To-Do List. So the next morning, after tanking up on free coffee at the Hyatt's breakfast bar, I navigated back into the south end of the city to Freedom Park, an alcove of nature nestled into the outskirts of the metropolis. According to my research, it's 98 acres; from my own walk-through I can report that it encompasses a bubbling stream, a small lake ringed by all kinds of foliage (some of it surprisingly-still-green for almost-December), baseball and soccer fields, tennis and basketball and even beach volleyball courts, playgrounds, picnic tables and shelters, and of course the path I was busy enjoying (along with quite a few other walkers, joggers, and bikers). It was an absolute treasure in-and-of-itself, no doubt, but it also looked to be plopped in the midst of some stunning communities filled with majestic red-brick homes and manicured lawns that were an added delight to behold. All in all, a very scenic end to my Charlotte excursion.

Of course, I posted several of my "here's what I'm doing" photos to Instagram...where my children both follow me...and thus got myself in a weeeee bit of hot water for going off and having fun without them. Derek, in fact, made uncharacteristically snarky comments to let me know just how grumpy he was with me. But I assured them that I certainly didn't exhaust the fun-to-be-had in Charlotte, by any means, and that we'll all go back one day soon TOGETHER. I was just, you know "scouting it out" for them, doing some valuable "recon"....or what have you. Anyway, it was a blast, time to go home...and rest up for Monday. See ya, Char...thanks for the memories!

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Let's try a turkey (or, you know, "Tofurkey") trot...

Here it is, Thanksgiving, and the male 3/4 of Team WestEnders has gone to visit Husband's parents in South Carolina for the weekend. As for me, this year I decided--what with the extra-crazy-busyness of my Fall--that what I would be most grateful for right about now was some good old fashioned...downtime. "I'll just stay here and relax," I thought to myself. "No cooking, cleaning, laundry...it'll be like an honest-to-goodness...stay-cation!" BUT...then I saw a reminder for the upcoming Gobble and Gorge event, the last leg of the amusingly-named Tour de Carrboro (which is the town that conveniently lies 2 miles from my house, making it an easy choice for races).

We had all participated in the first part, "4 (miles) on the Fourth" (of July), and prudently opted to skip the second, a 10k that we deemed "too much distance for us". This last one tempted me, but there were several...factors...I needed to carefully consider before committing.
1. It was on Thanksgiving. Actually, though, this wasn't such a big deal, since I'd already determined that I'd be remaining in town...alone. Never mind, check that one right off.

2. 8 a.m.--NOT my favorite time to run. But...I've certainly done it before, so I can suck it up, right? Sure...check.

3. Late-November--even in our region, could potentially be quite chilly, which is also not my preferred conditions. However, this offered me the undeniable opportunity to go shopping for appropriate gear--specifically a pair of toasty exercise tights (preferably fuzzy on the inside--if I'm gonna be working hard, I should at least feel pampered while doing so, yeah?) that I could then use all Winter. When I found some at Dick's...for half-price...it seemed like the Running Gods were giving me a thumbs-up sign that this was meant to happen, so: check.

4. The distance itself...8k. Gulp. We typically do the 5k thing...and even though I regularly put in 4 miles or so on my own neighborhood jaunts, to the best of my knowledge I'd never run 5 continuous miles...for any reason whatsoever. Well...no time like the present, right? I mean, what's the worst that could happen, I don't finish? Hold on--I'm waaaay too stubborn for that. Okay, then, maybe I have to walk part of it. Eh, who cares? After all, just because they call it a "race", doesn't mean you're actually required to, you know, "compete", or anything wacky like that. So...let's do this thing! (Check.)

5. Finally, there was one rather large obstacle that I had to address--approximately a size 7-1/2, that is: my left foot. You might recall that I went to the podiatrist about a week and half ago, and (foolishly, in retrospect) allowed her to apply a noxious chemical to the persistent callouses that periodically become bothersome, one near where the ball and arch meet (the very spot that incidentally strikes the ground on my running stride, naturally), and one on the outside of the pinkie toe where it bumps a shoe when you walk.

Both of them are quite uncomfortable when they build up over time...but not nearly as torturous as the "treatment" turned out to be. Suffice it to say I had to attempt to get around for 2-3 days without putting any pressure on that foot..at all. Yeah, I was a pathetically gimpy sight, I tell ya. For several more days, footwear of any kind caused agony. When I finally attempted a "let's see how this goes" run last Sunday, it was extraordinarily slow...painful...and difficult. And yet...on Monday...after I'd made sure my foot didn't fall off from the trauma, and I could still move...even if "gingerly"...I went ahead and registered myself for the punishment--um "race". (Because yes, I AM Just. That. Bullheaded. Check?)

Alrighty, then. Armed with some fancy-schmancy insoles the doctor had recommended to try and prevent this from re-occurring...and feeling no small amount of trepidation...I made my way to the Starting Line. And was immediately buoyed by the festive atmosphere that always prevails at these gatherings. There's music, pre-race snacks if you want them, (alas, no matter how yummy they look, I can't put anything more than a banana in my stomach prior to running) and of course the inevitable costumes. I'm not kidding, besides the tutus that are so commonplace I've become accustomed to them by now (although these were admirably adorned with an array of harvest colors to perfectly suit the occasion), there were MULTIPLE people in knit turkey hats. And my personal favorite: a couple of bold folks (adults, mind you) sporting a headpiece made to resemble a stuffed slice of pumpkin pie...complete with a dollop of whipped cream. Utterly. Priceless.

Oh yeah, then there was the day's activity! Given the challenges I described, my goals for this little folly were ever-so modest. Specifically, in decreasing order of importance: A) complete the course; B) run the whole way, if possible; C) clock in at 50 minutes or less. And I've gotta admit, it was a loooong trek for me. But I kept chugging along (sometimes literally--danged hills!) and talked myself out of slowing down to a walk several times. (Honestly, I wasn't hurting at all, just TIRED...and it came down to the simple fact that I didn't want to walk in front of the other runners. Even though others were doing so, and I have nothing but respect and encouragement to offer them. Um...I might have a teensy bit of a...competitive streak....just sayin'...) It was super-tough, no doubt. but I hauled myself past the blessed Finish marker at 49 minutes according to my trusty GPS watch, having averaged 9:47 per mile. As far as I was concerned, this was a huge W-I-N!

Later when I checked the results online, I found out that I'd come in 844th overall, out of 1,461, and 58th out of 111 for my age group. So I'd have to conclude that by cleverly setting the bar so low, I definitely exceeded my expectations for the race! Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely certain that I need to run 5 miles again in my life...I suppose we'll see how I feel about it when Turkey Day rolls around again next year. For now, it's awesome to have recorded 13,000 steps before 10 a.m...and to have earned whatever the HECK I want to feast on for the rest of the holiday! Mmmm....bring on those post-workout carbs, baby!


Sunday, November 22, 2015

Food for Thought (in a manner of speaking)

Occasionally Husband will jokingly remind me of the days (ah, that glorious bygone era...or whatever) back when we first met. We were both professionals, gainfully employed, supporting ourselves. While he shared a townhouse with a buddy from college--and therefore also split the grocery shopping and cooking duties--I rented my own apartment in the pricey little enclave of Bethesda. Therefore we used to trade stories about how he and his roommate would buy bagloads of food, including various kinds of meat products, and crisper-drawers-full of salad fixings, and more starchy side dishes that you could...I don't know....shake a stick at? (Although why you would choose to do that, I have no earthly idea...) Meanwhile, the single woman--who even at that time hated to cook--would often opt to dine on the ever-so-classy "bowl of cereal" for dinner.

So when we got married and I suddenly had to learn to stock a refrigerator for two people, the bill came as a bit of an...unpleasant surprise...for a while. I would come home lamenting about how much I'd spent, and he would attempt to soothe me by pointing out all the delicious, nutritious meals we were getting for our hard-earned money. If this failed to take my mind off the uncomfortably large number staring at me from the bottom of the looooong receipt, he'd default to indisputable-but-somewhat infuriating Guy Logic, nonchalantly shrugging and tossing out, "Hey, we've gotta eat, right?" Then along came the children...and the sticker shock seemed to increase exponentially. Not only did I have to buy more edibles, but I also found myself running to the store more often, to replace perishables like fruits and vegetables every few days. (Darn that healthy produce, with its delicate nature and short shelf life!)

And...the kids kept growing, of course, as they do. (Aaargh! Boys and their rapid metabolisms and endless appetites!) Now it became (what felt like) a constant shuttle between the supermarket and Costco, to try and maintain a full fridge, freezer, and pantry. Add in the extra calorie-burning from the sports they participate in, as well as the "puberty factor", and, well, you have a recipe for a couple of bottomless pits--um, "always-hungry-sons"--munching their way through mountains of food on a daily basis (that's how it appears to ME, at least, as I can practically watch the supplies disappearing before my very eyes...I swear it's like some sort of...Animal Planet documentary on the feeding habits of young, male homo sapiens in the wild....or something. Sigh...)

Then there are times like last night, when Derek texted Husband (who fortunately for me has mostly taken over the evening meal chore...bless his little pea pickin' heart) to ask if he could bring several friends home with him to hang out...and eat dinner. Suddenly we went from our usual two adolescent boys at the table, to Riley...plus four 15-year olds. Gulp. Naturally we immediately gave him the thumbs up on his plan--they're a delightful...bunch of goofballs...and always welcome here, after all. Shortly thereafter, however, realizing that I hadn't been on a true "replenishment-run" this week, I asked Husband with trepidation if there was actually enough sustenance in the house to satisfy such a crowd. He shrugged with good humor, "Eh, I'll cobble something together."

In fact, he did somehow manage to place full plates in front of each of them. I didn't examine them too closely to see what was actually included in the menu, but I also didn't hear any complaints, so it must have been acceptable. I'll say this for them: they're not overly picky, as long as they're satiated. I do know that they were given both veggies and dip AND roasted broccoli; thus I'm content (as the Quality Control Inspector...sure, it's totally one of my jobs...) that we provided a balanced entree. ('Cuz that's very important at Cafe WestEnders...however, it should also be noted that several of the guests only pretended to consume the array of vegetable offerings....rather than actually ingesting them. I'll be reporting this transgression to their parents...just kidding!)

I must say it gave a whole new dimension to "family mealtime", with much (more) silliness and a definite increase in the decibel level. Next time they'll probably hit up someone else's parents to provide their dining experience, as they tend to rotate from one house to the next. I'll miss out on the teenage-boy-talk...and the chance to observe the fascinating behavior of packs of young males in kitchen captivity up-close-and-personally. BUT I'll also get to take advantage of the much-needed grace period...to make those expensive forays to Costco and the grocery store and pack the shelves to overflowing again! I'd better go start making my lists...

Monday, November 16, 2015

One more soccer season down...

As the unofficial Travel Agent for Team WestEnders, I've certainly done my share of arranging excursions, both big and small. Road trips, foreign countries, a cruise--none of which quite rivaled the complexity of Riley's season-ending soccer tournament this past weekend.

On paper, it sounded relatively simple: 4 games, spaced over 2 days, in Greensboro, NC--which lies approximately an hour west of where we live. Upon closer inspection, however, things got a bit... murkier...in the Logistics column. You see, Saturday's matches for U13 Arsenal were scheduled for 10:30 a.m. (hey, no complaints so far...'cuz that even leaves time to pick up the all-important java-to-go on the way out)...and 7:15 p.m. I'm sorry, whaaaat? Exactly how would you suggest we pass 6 hours in between contests, pray tell? (She pretended to query the tournament organizers...who remained shockingly silent and unhelpful in response to her imaginary plea. Oh, maybe I should have actually asked someone out loud? Riiiiight...)

Okay, if that weren't enough to try to figure out, let me just go ahead and toss in the REST of the factors. Ready? Yeah, me neither. Here we go anyway: they'd be finishing up around 8:30 in the evening, having played through their normal dinner time. This means we'd have a squad full of ravenous adolescents needing to be fed immediately. Then they (and their chauffeurs--um, "parents") would potentially face the hour return trip to their houses and beds, where they'd fall into slumber by about, say, 10:30 or so...only to rise the next day and hightail it back for Day 2 of the competition.

The options for handling this were numerous, but not particularly appealing. We could drive all the way home, spend a few hours there, then turn around and make the commute all the way back again. We could hop from place to place around Greensboro, nomadically exploring our surroundings throughout the afternoon and early evening. Or we could reserve a hotel room for the night, giving us a place to crash for a while during the day, and a local sleepover option to eliminate 2 hours of driving around in circles on I-40. Ding ding ding, I think we have a winner! (Or, you know, "the lesser of...all the evils"...or what have you...)

The next step involved deciding exactly where to plant ourselves for the night. It turns out that the soccer action was taking place not at 1 venue (oh, don't be ridiculous--that would be far too sensible and easy!) but rather 3 different parks...as much as a half-hour apart from each other...2 of which incidentally weren't even technically in Greensboro at all. Oy. I was beginning to develop quite the Planning Headache. In the end I decided to book a room very close to where Riley's team would be finishing up their day's work. I figured that way we could minimize our travel--and maximize our sleep--when the soccer wrapped up. (As you'll see, it was a pretty good idea...at least in theory.)

Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the fact that, should both parents wish to watch their beloved son compete in his final soccer matches of the year, it would amount to the entire family conceding the entire weekend to the cause. Thus, with all of the information accounted for, the Final Agenda looked like this: I would attend Saturday's events with Riley, and stay in the area overnight. Then on Sunday, Husband would come out to meet us at the field, relieving me and taking his turn supervising the Sunday activities. Alrighty, then, let's set this thing in motion!

Saturday dawned cold but stunningly gorgeous as Riley and I headed westward. After a minor GPS snafu (which would become an underlying theme of our day, unfortunately) we located the sports complex, united with his fellow footballers (as their coach--adorably--refers to them) and engaged in a chilly Game 1...in which Arsenal played well, but suffered a tough 2-1 defeat. Afterwards, their spirits apparently undaunted by the unfavorable result, the rowdy boys declared, "We're going to Moe's!" (A local Tex-Mex fast food chain, for the uninitiated.)

We were given some vague instructions along the lines of "It's near the mall...over there somewhere." This was accompanied by equally non-specific hand waving, which did absolutely nothing to clarify the situation. As it turned out even our phone's Google Maps was utterly unable to identify just where the heck, on God's green Earth, "Moe" actually happened to be. (We later were told it was IN the mall...but not listed on the Directory that we checked.) Riley and I finally gave up, procured our own lunch, then headed to the hotel to initiate the Relax Phase of our long day.

Yeah...about that Internet deal I scored for a verrry inexpensive room at a budget national chain...let's just say I got a crash course reminder of the time-honored truism: "You get what you pay for." I'd have to guess it was the smallest room I've ever rented--no space for a closet (armoire instead), and no tub in the bathroom (just a stand-up shower). This in-and-of-itself would have been perfectly fine, because there were 2 beds, and that's really all we needed. BUT (yes, it's a biiiig "but") although the establishment advertises itself as "100% non-smoking", it was clear that our particular domicile had at some point allowed people to light up inside. How could I tell? Only by the fact it smelled like--this is the best analogy I can make as a vehement lifelong anti-smoker--an ashtray, piled to overflowing with 20-years worth of stale butts, the stench of which pounded you right in the nostrils the second you opened the door. It was, in a word, revolting.

Had this been a vacation scenario, where this was going to be our "home base" for several days, we would have been out of there faster than the door could hit us in the patootie. (Well, this is useless speculation anyway, as I never would have selected such a place for a "real" Summer getaway.) Since it was so temporary, I reluctantly decided just to suck it up. Sigh. On to better things...the second contest was held under the lights at a soccer park near our stinky hotel. The temperature had dropped when the sun went down, of course, so we shivered through a tense, evenly-matched...eventual 2-1 victory for Arsenal.

And then...the insatiable beasts began crying out for food once more. (Jeez, does it never end with these guys? Oh yeah...they're growing boys, so no, it really doesn't...) This time there was a more coordinated effort, to meet up at Panera in Greensboro. (20 minutes back on I-40...again...) I turned to Riley--normally my impervious part-polar-bear child, who was clutching his hands together, trying to restore some warmth to them--and said excitedly, "Hey, you know what they have at Panera?" His eyes lit up and he enthusiastically crowed, "Sooooouuuup!" Our dreams for toasty mugs of brothy goodness were dashed, though, when we arrived expectantly at the door...only to be told that they were closing. That's right, you heard me...at 9 p.m...on a Saturday night....on a major retail cross street in the middle of the city...in the midst of a teeming mass of shoppers still clearly out-and-about. What. The. HECK?

Undeterred, one of the hungry players yelled, "Moe's!" (Again with that guy? Well, it WAS right across the parking lot, pretty much.) So we trooped over there...to be met with the same end. Fortunately, Noodles & Company--another few steps away--remained open, and allowed our somewhat sweaty, slightly grassy, cleat-wearing, near-mutinous-by-this-point goofballs to breach the front door. And they gave us a delicious meal, too! After this little interlude in continued team bonding, Riley and I repaired to our sleeping quarters, and called it a night.

In the morning, after a peaceful sleep and free breakfast, we tackled the next challenge: a 30-mile trek to yet another group of soccer fields, which ended up being in the middle of N-O-W-H-E-R-E-sville, with one-lane roads leading in and out, flooded with traffic as everyone attempted to arrive for their matches. Luckily for me, my work was almost done. I fought my way in, created a parking spot on an unoccupied patch of the surrounding lawn, handed Riley off to his father, conveyed my "goodbye and good luck" message, and got the heck out of Dodge (or, um..."Browns Summit", for what it's worth).

Throughout the rest of the day, I got updates from Husband and son about their progress. From Husband: "Won first game 3-0." (Whoo hoo!) "Lunch at Panera." (Aw, man! They're having my sooooouuuuup!) "Going bowling between games." (Oh boy...with a bunch o' rambunctious pre-teens, that oughta be good!) And finally, from the player himself: "Won second game 2-1, came in 2nd in tournament, we all got medals!" (Yeah, it's all about the hardware...) Even disregarding that finale (which is, of course, awesome) he had a fabulous time and enjoyed himself to the hilt. So despite all of the....nonsense...involved with this weekend's...extravaganza of soccer mayhem (that's what the tournament should totally be called, by the way)...I'd have to conclude that it was well worth it in the end.

And now...we try to recover for Monday. Ay yi yi...goodnight!



Friday, November 13, 2015

Riley Tells It Like It Is...(Heaven Help Us...)

Raise your hand if this ever happens to you: you're chatting with someone close to you...let's say--just hypothetically, of course--a "son"...and they say something that makes you shake your head and go, "Huh....do I even know you at ALL?" (Upon further reflection, I guess that little "classroom poll" idea doesn't really work in the virtual world But I'll just assume for argument's sake that you're all with me, hands waving in the air in a supportive show of solidarity. Moving on...)

So, at dinner time the last night (as these things so often happen) Husband began ranting about how certain items in the refrigerator/freezer are dwindling, and have reached the point where only inconvenient quantities are left, "There were TWO hotdogs. TWO salmon burgers. Enough ravioli for TWO people. TWO servings of sweet potato fries. But nothing that will serve all THREE of us! (Referring, of course, to the Male Carnivore Trio that typically eats together at the evening meal. Me, I tend to stay safely out of the way of those meatheads....um "meat eaters". And by the way, how's Male Carnivore Trio for a band name? Ha!)

At this point Derek--who appeared to be thoroughly amused by this little tirade--snickered and interrupted him, "Well, Dad, sounds like you and Mom need to have a nice...hotdog and sweet potato fries Date Night!" I gave him the raised-eyebrow-and-frown combo and shot back, "Yeeeeah, he should go ahead and invite his OTHER girlfriend....the one who's not a vegetarian." Derek and Husband both burst into appreciative laughter, but Riley was the one who surprised us by responding, in an utterly serious and thoughtful tone, "I don't think Dad has another girlfriend. If he did, there would be...tension."

Holy. Guacamole. Obviously, much hilarity ensued, and we all took a moment to fully enjoy and absorb the wisdom of the TWELVE-YEAR OLD representative on Team WestEnders. But was he finished? Oh, noooo, not even close. He continued, undeterred by his giggling family, "Hmm...Dad would be all awkward. And Mom would get suspicious. And, yeah, it just wouldn't work."

Well...I can't say he doesn't make some very valid points. What I can do is wonder, with a mixture of fascination...fear...and horror...where the HECK he gets these notions? I know for an absolute, indisputable fact that the kid is NOT watching any Real Housewitches of...Anywhere...so I fail to understand what's shaping this scarily mature worldview of his. That's it, perhaps I should interrogate...um "interview" some of his 7th grade buddies to try and figure out if they're feeding him this stuff. Otherwise, I might be forced to take radical action...like reinstating a policy from back in the good old days: All Disney Channel, All the Time!

So you see, these are the consequences when I join them at the table...clearly I'm much better off making myself scarce, and leaving them to their ESPN-fueled discussions from now on...yep, that's my plan, and I'm sticking to it!

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

My Own Version of Office Space

Okay, folks, I've got a couple of weeks under my belt on the New Job, so it must be about time for a status report. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm only there Mondays and Wednesdays, but it'll suffice for a First Impression, right?) So, in a nutshell (or, you know...a whole passel of 'em...) here's what I like about working there:

I feel compelled to start with three small but oh-so-significant words: My. Own. Office. Seriously, I'm talking about a room just for me, with a real door, and a nice, big window, and a bookshelf, and a file cabinet, and a desk, and a computer, and...some kind of odd instrument that emits an alarming tone once in a while at random intervals. (Stay tuned for more on that later...) And (squealing excitedly, unable to contain her Geek Girl Glee) all the SUPPLIES one could want! Now, you might find yourself thinking, "Sheesh, could she overreact just a wee bit more, here?" But you must understand that the last time I actually had a work space was waaaaay back in the day when I was a Speech Pathologist...before Derek was born.

Since then, I've been...well....I guess "itinerant" would be a nice way to put it, ("Bag Lady" being the slightly more accurate but far less appealing term.) carrying around my purse, and lunch, and water bottle, and whatever else I need, from room to room and building to building,...all the while hoping I don't forget anything along the way. So believe me when I tell you that I'm fully appreciating the joys of "not schlepping one's life around in a tote". Because not only do I have my choice of spots in which to safely stow my handbag, the suite also boasts a kitchen, with a refrigerator...and a microwave...and a Keurig machine. Evah-so-civilized, I tell ya. And it just goes to show, sometimes it really IS the little things...)

On a related note, remember when I mentioned that strange device? You guessed it, friends: I have my own telephone, with an assigned extension...but (here's the happiest part) I'm not responsible for answering anyone else's. In fact, the whole suite is soooooo quiet that when it rings, I invariably jump like a startled rabbit. (Wait, do rabbits get surprised? Or are they just naturally twitchy all the time? Eh, it's my simile, and I'm just gonna go with it...) Then I stare at it in bafflement for a few seconds while it continues to persistently make that "Pay Attention to Meeeee" noise. Finally I gather my wits about me....and answer it. (Hmmm...somehow my Orientation Training failed to include "How to Respond When the Telephone Rings"...perhaps I should suggest that for the future....or, yeah, it's probably just me...)

So, about that...peaceful silence. You see, we're a verrry small outpost of a larger non-profit located in Maryland. (I know: ironic!) Our entire office contains 6 people...and that's only when we're all present...which seems to be, oh, approximately NEVER. Furthermore, when people are on-site, they tend to spend a large amount of their days on conference calls, behind closed doors. Hence the lack of noise...and sometimes long periods of solitude. (Fortunately, as we all know, I'm someone who does relish her "alone time" when it happens. Although I have to admit, there have been moments when the atmosphere begins to resemble something like a ghost town...and I catch myself combating the eerie stillness by thinking out loud. NOT "talking to myself"....because you know, THAT would be crazy...) Anyway, this makes for a productive environment, free of distractions...and besides, no one minds if I stream music while I'm busy. (Because why? I'm in my own office! And I can shut the door! I swear, this is not getting old any time soon....)

But don't get me wrong, when I do get to cross paths and interact with my co-workers, you couldn't ask for a more personable, intelligent, enjoyable group of women. Which brings me to my final point: I get to use my brain on the job, and can I tell you how much I L-O-V-E that? (What? Shocking! Said no one who's ever met me...) In fact, I've already learned how to do some...stuff...that wasn't in my particular skill set before. And up to this point it seems like my tasks are generally going to be different from one day to the next, depending on what people need. Furthermore, while our local staff is small, as I mentioned, whenever I have a question I can reach out to the parent location, where help is just a quick phone call or email or even video chat away (Ah, the wonders of modern technology).

So, yeah, to sum up: So Far, So Good. Hopefully things will keep sailing smoothly along...I most solemnly promise to do my best not to let the K-Cups run out...and I'm sure my phone and I will eventually reach some sort of mutual understanding. Fingers crossed!

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Hey, you wanna pizza this?*

Sorry! (She types, cringing...yet completely helpless to stop herself, nonetheless...) So, yeah, it's been THAT kind of week. Not bad, mind you, just...draining. Case in point: we got to Thursday night--with Husband still out of town, remember--and I realized that I had....how shall I put this..."less than 0% interest in toiling away to concoct a hot, nourishing, home-cooked meal for my beloved children's dinner". Or even, you know. throwing together cold sandwiches for them, for that matter.

You see, their father generally takes care of dinner (bless his little pea pickin' heart) since he doesn't mind cooking, while I find it a tedious chore. However, he's been traveling so much lately that I'd run through my standard repertoire of quick/easy/minimal fuss dishes already. And with the whole "running between 2 jobs and supervising after-school...stuff", I was just D-O-N-E.

So after a bit of careful deliberation (yeah...approximately 10 seconds or so...) I determined that the absolute best thing to do in this instance was take the path of least resistance...or as it will forever after be known, "The Way of...Papa John's". Then I knocked on Riley's door to inform him of the plan. "I don't want any argument about this," I began sternly...then paused for maximum dramatic effect..."but we're having pizza tonight." He gazed at me calmly while absorbing this tidbit, then nodded sagely and said, "Ahhh...sarcasm...I get it." (Bwah hah hah! Well done, grasshopper...)

That was tremendously amusing to me (I told you I was slightly loopy by this point in the week, right?) so I approached Derek with a similar angle. "I have to tell you something, and I don't want you to even think about giving me a hard time, okay? Just deal with it--we're ordering pizza for dinner." His face briefly broke into a huge, delighted grin before he smothered it and whined "But....Mooooooom! I don't WANNA eat pizza!" It was a losing battle, however, and he gave up as quickly as he'd begun, as the impish twinkle returned to his eyes and his mouth regained its smirk.

But next, he startled me by suddenly getting super-serious and asking, "How many are we getting?" His follow-up question was a very calculated, "And how many pieces is that?" I could see where this was going, but I played along anyway. (All the while feeling like I was being grilled in some kind of...Italian interrogation...or something...) Continuing his line of inquiry, he wanted to know, "So, you'll eat, what, like 3 slices?" "Um...probably 2", I corrected. "Hmm....even if Riley wants 5...that leaves 9 for me!" he triumphantly crowed. Oh. Good. Grief. (Well, I suppose that could be viewed as an example of some Real Life Math for ya, if you want to look at it that way...or perhaps teenager using his considerable Deductive Powers for Good? Let's hope...)

But the final goofy punctuation mark on the whole...scenario of silliness...occurred when the steaming, fresh-from-the-oven boxes of goodness actually arrived on our front doorstep. As I took them from the very friendly delivery guy and we made chit-chat during the transfer he laughingly noted, "I always bring y'all pizza! I pulled up and said 'Hey, I know this house, I've been here before'!" Uh-oh. I swear we resort to the Pizza Solution only about once a month...but apparently we always happen to call when this particular driver is working.

Eh, whattya gonna do? As far as I was concerned, I fulfilled my Parental Responsibilities to feed my children--and for Bonus Points, I even made them a salad to go with it! But there was no required boiling/baking/sauteeing...microwaving...what have you, and very little cleanup. So yeah, it was definitely a Win-Win for Team WestEnders. Better yet: Husband will return....and pull Dinner Duty this weekend. Yaaayyyyyy!


Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Hey, who made off with the afternoon sunlight? (And my brain.....)

Okay, raise your hand if you've ever had the kind of week where you're like, "Seriously, what day is it? Who needs to be taken where? And while we're at it, does anyone know what the heck I'm supposed to be doing?" Yeah? Whew--me, too. (Wait...I'm talking to myself right now, aren't I? Um...I mean "thinking out loud again"...uh-huh, that's totally it.)

Anyway, let's try to figure this thing out, shall we? Well, the week started off with the dreaded "change your clocks" decree. Why does this cause such...discombobulation...in Casa WestEnders? I'm not completely sure, to be honest. I know that I personally feel extra-tired for a few days. (Due to my circadian rhythms taking their own sweet time to shift and get with the updated program? Your guess is as good as mine....) But what we all agree on is that we LOATHE the fact that darkness starts descending upon us by 5:30...after which it quickly appears to be oh, around 10 p.m...making us all want to just curl up and go to bed. Which is why I suggested to Derek that we just get real and call it Daylight Suckage Time from this point forward. (Go ahead, feel free to use that, I don't mind at all.)

Then, all of a sudden it was Monday. (No, I don't have any idea how it snuck up on me. Clearly, though, it cannot be trusted.) Now this particular day always brings its own...challenges...of course, but in this case they were compounded by the fact that Husband had to hightail it out of here for yet another business trip. So, I went to the office (Right? It was...Monday...so yep, that's the one. See, I told you I was confused...) after informing the children that they would be arriving home before me by just a little while.

When I returned, it was to find a forlorn Derek standing on the back porch waiting for someone to come and let him into the house. The sheepish teenager had been unable to locate his key--but at least he was under cover. (Sigh...) On the bright side, we received a reprieve from the sports practice merry-go-round, because steady rain and puddly fields prompted the league to cancel soccer workouts for the evening.  (And by the way: AGAIN with the wet stuff? Reeeaalllly?)

Aargh, what are we up to? Oh yeah, Tuesday. Let's see....the kids had Election Day off from school (which they cast their ballots strongly in favor of....ha!) but I had to leave for a few hours in the afternoon to go to my other gig, interpreting at the Ends of the Earth. I'm sorry, I mean "Fuquay Varina". (In case you're wondering, I believe it's North Carolinian for "the middle of freakin' nowhere...y'all".)

Moving right along, Wednesday I repeated the pattern of heading to my desk for a full day of...Program-Assistant-type-tasks. The grass was still quite soggy, but Riley's coach (bless his highly motivated little futbol loving heart) scrambled to relocate their practice to a nearby park that wasn't closed. AND the dear man offered to drop my son off at home afterwards, since pickup time directly conflicted with something verrrrry important...my once-weekly dance class. (I mean really, I shuttle these guys around all the livelong day--mostly willingly and without complaint. But I must firmly draw the line at giving up my precious hour of...boogie-ing.)

Before setting off to shake what my mama gave me...or some such nonsense...I prepped salads for the ravenous beasts. (Or, you know, "adolescent boys"....Huh, it's basically the same thing, isn't it? Never mind...) And I left them with instructions to microwave hotdogs to complete their meal. Actually if I recall correctly, what I implored them to do was "Pleeeeease, for the love of Pete (whoever he is), feed yourselves before I get back!" It must have worked, because they were just sitting down to dinner when I pulled up. (Yaaaayyy! Self-sufficiency....sort of....WHATEVER, it's good enough for tonight!)

And that brings us up to date. Wait, it's still Wednesday, yeah? Okay, that means tomorrow is another "drive drive drive, interpret for a while, drive drive drive" day. But just...hang in there...Friday's coming! Hey...maybe if I go to bed NOW, it'll get here sooner. After all, it's so pitch black outside that it sure FEELS like it's about midnight...zzzzzzzzz. (Wake me on Thursday...and remind me what the agenda is, will ya? Thanks...)