Saturday, December 31, 2016

Maryland Meandering: Act I

For our final road trip of 2016, and the last hurrah of the holiday season, Team WestEnders packed up and headed back to...the Great North. Okay, okay, it's really only as far as Maryland, but it counts for us, anyway. Since it had worked so well in the Summer, we went with the "leave at 4 p.m." plan, hoping that it would again cause us to miss Rush Hour in all the major cities on our way up. Aaannnd...it worked! (Ha-le-lu-jah! sang the I-85/95 choir...of one...which would be "me"...) Despite stopping twice to switch drivers--the upside/downside of having three people who can operate Husband's car these days--we made awesome time, and more importantly, in a traffic-frustration-free manner.

So we arrived at our Host Family's abode, and settled in to make ourselves at home for the next four-ish days. However, at least MY comfort level was severely tested first thing the next morning, when I peered out the window and saw...a light dusting of snow on the ground. Seriously, Maryland--what gives? (Yes, I DID feel personally affronted by this...as if the icy precipitation had occurred specifically to taunt the visiting southern transplant.) Fortunately, it melted quickly, and we could get on with our day, acting as though it had never happened (although perhaps holding a small grudge for my previous home state treating me like that...or some such nonsense...)

And our agenda consisted of: traveling to my dad's house, where we would spend hours upon end with my clan. This translates to an abundance of Cousin Time, spent pursuing various endeavors such as...competitive video gaming,...enthusiastic basketball and football contests, interludes of wandering the neighborhood on foot (for reasons that remain unclear....but it seemed to keep them out of trouble? Or at least they weren't brought back in a squad car, so we're gonna call that a big old W), and borderline-out-of-control Nerf gun battles. Oh, and eating, of course--always that. Meanwhile the adults did....grown-up stuff...like catching up on each other's lives...that would have bored the kids to tears had they been required to sit around and participate. So basically, everyone got what they needed, and was therefore quite content.

Today when we awoke, I came upstairs to obtain the all-important Elixir of Life...um, "java" (but you knew that, right? Of course you did...) and was greeted by...gigantic, fluffy white particles swirling around in the sky. Are. You. KIDDING. Me? Yes, it's Winter up here; I totally get it, already! You can stop trying to prove it to me, because it's beginning to piss me off! While the flakes ceased and desisted a short while later, the howling wind did NOT--continuing to provide an extra...chilling effect (that was entirely unwelcome, it goes without saying) throughout the entire day. De-lightful, I tell ya.

But we had places to be and people to see, so there was no huddling inside under a blanket for us, no sir. Because today was set aside to return to our former hometown and connect with old friends. First the Male Trio ensconced themselves in the warm atmosphere of the local Greene Turtle establishment, to eat burgers and watch football, while I met up with a fellow Playgroup Mom I've known since Derek was a baby. After our wonderful chat (and also absolutely delicious almond milk hot chocolate--well done, Panera!), Team WestEnders took Derek to his next engagement--hanging out with some Middle School buddies at one of their houses.

Then...Husband, Riley and I had 5-1/2 hours to kill before our next gathering. Hmm...how to amuse ourselves? Well, we whiled away a little time in the library. Next--even though it was pretty dang frigid (did I mention that? I feel like I might've...) I nonetheless was keen to fit in a stroll (I know, I know: "crazy". What can I say? I might joke about hibernating, but it's really not in my nature...tragically...) Therefore I convinced Husband and son to accompany me to a nearby lake I used to enjoy, so we could race-walk a lap around it and say we accomplished our exercise for the day. With that checked off, it was (no surprise) time to feed the child again, so we moved on to a shopping center that holds a Target (providing us with the required sustenance), as well as both Barnes & Noble and Dick's Sporting Goods (for toasty, indoor browsing).

Finally, the appointed hour arrived for us to head back and retrieve Derek, so we could join some of our soccer tribe for dinner at...California Tortilla. (You're just shocked, yeah? I mean, who could have ever predicted we'd end up THERE? Just like every single other time we're in Maryland...) There we ate and talked and laughed...for as long as the kids would tolerate their parents forcing them to remain stationary. (Hey, they actually allowed us a solid three hours, so I'd have to say that worked out as well as we could've hoped for!)

After that, we just had to navigate back to HQ, to rest up for New Year's Eve festivities....which luckily don't demand that we leap out of bed and hurry anywhere. Nope, we're looking forward to a leisurely morning for the entire household, to recharge the Party Batteries. Wait...do I even have such a thing? I'll have to check--but if so, I'm 100% certain they're powered by...chocolate...and coffee. There you have it: an a.m. To Do List that I can totally get behind! But for now...one of those "long Winter's naps" sounds like a fabulous idea...night night...

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Christmas Cheer, 2016 style

I find that Christmas continues to evolve as my boys get older. When they were little, Husband and I would brace ourselves for the inevitable early-morning wakeup call, as the gleeful munchkins would bound out of bed raring to go for their goodies, unable to contain their excitement for even one more minute. (Which is why we quickly developed effective strategies to distract them for a few precious moments...while the COFFEE brewed. Festivities, fun, fa la la--AFTER Mom and Dad swallow some caffeine. And really, this is an important Life Lesson that we felt it imperative to communicate, due to its widespread and long-term applications, if you know what I mean...)

And speaking of their gifts, they used to have no problem whatsoever providing us with ideas for what they'd like to find under the tree. We merely needed to stick to the list--and embellish with a few surprises, based on knowing what they liked to play with--and all would be well. With the teenagers, however, I swear it was like pulling teeth to get them to commit to anything they wanted. Now, don't get me wrong: I recognize that, in a way, this is a positive thing. At least they're not demanding all the latest gadgets and gizmos and...whatnot, right? But let me tell ya, it did add an extra layer of...challenge...to shopping.

As far as the a.m. ritual goes, there were...ahem...let's call them Treaty Terms to be delicately handled before the big day. Specifically, Riley worked to pin down his brother as to exactly when he could be expected to emerge from is lair...um, "room". You see, like me, my younger son's eyes open at approximately the same time every day, as regulated by his internal clock. His sibling, however, is not only capable of sleeping later, but also likes to lounge in bed...watching sports highlights on his phone...for quite some time before joining the rest of the world already-in-progress.

Therefore they agreed to a reasonable 9:00, as the hour when Riley would be permitted to enter the sanctum and roust the layabout--without any unpleasant repercussions (which were left unspoken, but could include...I don't know...being pelted with empty food wrappers dug out of the bottom of your backpack? Yeah, I've seen the evidence, and that could definitely happen...).

So, after all the preparation and anticipation...and negotiation, the big celebration day arrived. One welcome consequence of the delayed start time is that I was able to enjoy not one, but TWO whole cups of java in total peace, before being called upon to interact with my beloved tribe. (Trust me, this can only improve the outcome, for all concerned...) And then, the unveiling of packages commenced. For Husband--who believe it or not is even WORSE at making suggestions for what to get him--this usually involves an assortment of fancy snack foods obtained with great delight by the boys and me from field trips to Trader Joe's and Whole Foods. (I'm not kidding--when I directly asked for his input on the subject, his sole response consisted of one word: MEAT.)

This year we selected such delicacies as: Sriracha potato chips, salt and pepper pistachios, honey sesame cashews, wasabi ranch peas, and pretzel crisps flavored like "everything" bagels. Oh, and I decided to take him literally at his word, and thus bought several pounds of ground bison, for him to make burgers for the carnivores on Team WestEnders. (He was absolutely delighted...pffftt...MEN!)

When it was my turn to reveal something, imagine my...bafflement...as I pulled out this little gem:
Um...thanks, guys? Riley reacted to my expression immediately...by skillfully throwing his father under the proverbial bus: "It was Dad's idea!" (Well played, son..) Meanwhile, the other two were holding their sides, in paroxysms of laughter for a few moments before Husband could pull himself together enough to explain, "I saw this in the store, and thought that since Riley loves frogs, it would remind you of him...every time you looked in the sink!" (Suuuure...)


The next items I unveiled were equally perplexing--silicone-coated tongs and a large bamboo fork--until Husband again helped me out, "For when you're making your zucchini noodles and you need to turn them, because you're always worried about scratching the ceramic finish on the pans with our metal utensils!" Well....that actually makes a lot of sense....and while perhaps not terribly...warm and fuzzy?...is nevertheless an eminently practical....and thoughtful...present. (Also admittedly kind of hilarious...and 100% guaranteed to get you mentioned in the blog...you're WELCOME...and just remember that you brought this on yourself!)

Next, whattya say we do Riley, who still retains some of his adorable childlike enthusiasm for the holiday, and can't wait to unwrap his haul. One of his presents, however, was neither a secret, nor placed beneath the evergreen: since he's the only one of us who actually follows the NHL at all, Husband got tickets for the 2 of them to attend a game in January. Otherwise, Derek (with my help) and I managed to come up with something unexpected...and very, very purple, as you can see. (Now, please don't ask me why this child supports a college in Texas, because none of us have a clue...but he's a fan, so we go along with it.) And to round it all out, a goalpost for kicking a football in the front yard--one that's NOT held together by duct tape and pleading--which promises to be a lot more entertaining in the long run than the one he has to reconstruct on a daily basis!


Finally, we have Derek, who requested things that were entirely in character for him, such as a University of Maryland t-shirt. ("Hold on just a second", I cautioned, "Don't you have TWO of them already?" "Yeah, but one is so worn out that I can only use it for sleeping", he rationalized. Oh...kay...at least that's easy!) Also a Pittsburgh Pirates hat (which is deemed acceptable only because they're in the National League, and therefore not rivals of the Orioles), a new basketball to replace the one that is legitimately shredding since he uses it so much, and FIFA 17 for his (thankfully newly-repaired, fully-functioning, and returned just in the St. Nick (ha!) of time for his vacation) PlayStation. So, predictably, my eldest son has 3 major sports covered in his Wish List. (Yeah...who couldn't see THAT coming?)

In the end, everyone was pleased with their pile....and after a fortifying breakfast, had the rest of the day free to take advantage of their new possessions....driveway basketball....extra-point practice...virtual soccer...a bike ride on a local trail, utilizing my new mirror and bell (not previously mentioned, but which I actually had asked for--imagine that!)...and grilling! And with that, happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Sunday, December 25, 2016

Christmas Warm-Ups...

'Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the house, there was...merriment...frantic last-minute preparations...family togetherness...and a whole lotta goofiness. Perhaps not so much your traditional seasonal fare, but around here, that's what you get! Without further ado, a few tales of the tidings:

Although I had my duties as Team WestEnders' SDR (Santa Delivery Rep. What? It's an important job, and I thought I deserved a title...and more importantly, some cookies, come to think of it...) pretty well handled, there were a couple more items I needed to pick up late in the game. Now, when we lived in Maryland, I would never even consider--not for one hot minute--venturing anywhere NEAR a retail center in the days leading up to Christmas. The heavy traffic, the chaos of finding a parking spot, the madding crowds, the checkout lines...these are things to which I choose not to subject myself. However, I crossed my fingers and sent a little prayer out to the Universe that somehow it would prove to be a different experience...300 miles south.

So I gave the local mall a shot on the 23rd (I know, I know--I cringed reflexively as I typed that, but hang in there with me...it's going to be okay, I promise), telling myself that I'd just do a drive-by and assess the situation. If the outside looked crazy-busy and packed, I'd simply leave. Aaaaannnd...it turned out to be totally fine, starting with an abundance of empty parking spaces. Okay, then--I have no idea WHY, but, that went so well, let's continue to push my luck: on to Target...which was NOT the madhouse I expected, either. Huh.

Well, I might have lost my mind a little bit--or at least been addled by my success--since I decided to go ahead and visit stores on Christmas Eve as well. (Right? What was I thinking? I'm a chick who likes to live on the edge, that's what...or some such nonsense...) First, I tackled Whole Foods, which was only the usual amount of frenzied...so basically completely manageable. Finally, for my last stop on the pre-Yuletide mini-spree: Kohl's. This was actually the worst of them all...as there was a delay of approximately...5 minutes...to purchase my items. Whew, the stress--I required an immediate Starbucks Skinny Peppermint Mocha after surviving that one, I tell ya! (Yes, I can turn absolutely ANYTHING into an excuse for coffee--it's my special gift...)

Then, with the...elf chores...finished, we could focus on the actual fun part of the proceedings, beginning with our tradition of attending church on December 24th. As our departure time approached, the following conversation occurred:
Riley: "Mom, is church on Christmas Eve shorter than normal?"
Me: (puzzled) "Maaayybee...why do you ask?"
Riley: "I seem to remember last year that you sing some songs, but the message isn't very long."
Me: (still not entirely sure what he's getting at, but willing to play along until he reveals his point) "Well, that makes sense, because it's not a regular Sunday service, with a sermon, and the whole purpose is really to hear the story of Jesus's birth."
Riley: (brightening with relief at my confirmation of his recall) "Yeah (pause) mostly I'm wondering how it affects dinner."
Me: (full understanding dawning) "Aahhhhh...of COURSE you are. Don't worry, celebrating the arrival of our Lord and Savior will not preempt your evening meal." (Good. Grief...)

Postscript: I feel compelled to mention that later, as I relayed the story to Derek so we could possibly enjoy a laugh at his brother's voracious appetite, he responded with deadly seriousness, "Oh yeah, that's my main concern, too." Oh, and keep in mind that this exchange took place WHILE they were each eating their afternoon snack. Yep, that's my teenagers--always on the lookout for their next food opportunity..siiighhhhh.....

Not long after I'd recovered from this bit of silliness, Riley sought me out to ask, "Are you gonna make us dress nice for church?" At this point, there was only one reaction I could go with: dropping my forehead into my hands, heaving a dramatically disappointed breath, and exclaiming, "Heaven forbid!" To his credit, he just stood there, evidently immune to my theatrics (Darn it! I'm gonna have to take it to the next level, aren't I?) until I added, "I suppose not." Then I had a brainstorm, "Wait, how about you wear the shorts you have on (a relatively muted pair of grey athletic ones)...and your polo?"

Derek had wandered in by this time--clad in shorts that were much...more colorful and...less appropriate for a house of worship--and interjected, "I'll change into my cargo shorts!" Recognizing that this was the best offer I was likely to receive, I snapped it up...and spent a brief moment reminiscing about when they were small enough for me to dress them any way I liked. (Of course, I also had to change their diapers during that time, which is why the nostalgia was quite short-lived...ha!)

At last, when the gospel-ing and supper-ing had concluded, we settled in for some quality festive video viewing...although again, with a very different atmosphere than in Christmases past. For one thing, each boy stretched himself along an entire couch...and had to be advised that, no matter how large they now are, they'll be SHARING the cushions with their parents. Derek actually had the nerve to defend what he had claimed as his turf, "I just thought you'd be sitting on the floor!" Um.....hellllooo...the unspoken rule that you seem to have conveniently forgotten is this: in the event of a tie, the OLD PERSON gets the comfy seat, dude! (He moved over and made room for me...albeit grudgingly...it may have been after I reminded him that it wasn't too late to return his presents. Yep, that's some admirable Christmas parenting, right?)

Meanwhile, when queried as to which selection he'd prefer to watch, Riley declared, "Anything!" Before quickly amending, "Well...as long as it's Charlie Brown!" Okay, then: Peanuts it is, followed by the mandatory annual screening of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Demonstrating once more that the times, they have-'a-changed, while the nasty green one was tossing the Whos' bags of goodies up the chimneys, Derek mused, "Um...I don't think that's how physics works..."

So, while I have to accept that they're not my adorable youngsters anymore--running around in spiffy red and green outfits that I picked out (and wrangled them into)...sitting rapt in front of beloved holiday classics without making smart aleck comments...toddling off to bed early so that Santa would make his appearance while they slept...they ARE still my (much bigger)...precious...gooberheads. God bless us, every one!

Thursday, December 22, 2016

A Tale from..."Down Under"

Most of the time, I thoroughly enjoy…and maaayyyybe take advantage of, a little bit (or, you know, “as often as humanly possible”…or whatever) being the only female in Casa WestEnders. But occasionally I have to admit that it can be somewhat…confusing. For example, as the designated Purchasing Agent for our team (makes it sound much more glamorous than Target-Costco Drone, yeah?) I handle such scintillating tasks as…procuring socks and underwear for everyone. Now, you’d think this would be sooo simple, right? I mean, I’m the only one who should have to weigh her options and make choices—what with the variety of fabrics, cuts, and often inexplicable sizes a woman must navigate through, just to cover her bum in a manner that she finds satisfactory, for crying out loud. (Don’t get me started…and BRAS? Pffttt….fuhgeddaboutit!)

So, we (that would be “the royal we”—otherwise known as “I”, of course) reached an agreement on our Sock Policy a long time ago. This can be summed up as: Nothing White. E-V-E-R.  Therefore, each of the male persons gets black ones, and I try to distinguish them by buying 3 different brands, so when the laundry contains, oh, approximately 300 socks (Okay, that may very well be a gross exaggeration…but as the person who also manages the bulk of Operation Clean Clothing, it's totally within my rights…) we can fairly easily sort them to the correct owner.

As far as…their unmentionables...wait, they’re GUYS, so they don’t give a hoot if we talk about their undies, right? Well, how about we don’t tell them anyway, just in case? Deal? Right, moving on…Husband’s generally a “briefs man”, so his are easy to separate out from the pack. Then the boys decided--somewhere after the end of the diaper phase--that they preferred boxer briefs…but while they settled on the same manufacturer, fortunately they are happy with different…models? So the bottom line (Ha! Sorry…) is that it’s pretty easy to tell which ones belong to each member of the Male Posse, and for me to obtain more of them when they wear out, without having to take any extraordinary measures to do so. (Oh, don’t worry, you’ll see what this means, shortly…).

And then, Riley has to go and throw a monkey wrench into the whole, smoothly-running system. One day he comes looking for me and says, “Can I get some new underwear?” Well, sure--not a problem, son…except that he had a peculiar look on his face that warranted further questioning. So I asked, “Whyyy, what’s up?” With an expression that was...maybe part embarrassed...part sheepish, he answered, “Can I get something that’s like what I have now…but…looser?”

“Ummmm…ohhhkaaay—are you just talking about a size bigger?” He considered this for a moment, then replied, “The ones I’m wearing now are tight around my legs, and I don’t like the way that feels.” Oh, boy. (Ha! Sorry again…)This is perhaps when I should have directed him immediately to go talk to ANYONE ELSE IN THE HOUSE because, they’re, you know, “your people”. But I’m the mother, and therefore it’s somewhere in my unwritten contract (or it could be just my ridiculously stubborn disposition…yeah, it’s probably that one…) that I never duck from a challenge. Thus I assured him I’d try to find something that would function, to comfortably accommodate his…manly parts…and whatnot. (Ay yi yi…)

But first we had to have a conversation about what, exactly, he wanted in his undergarments. (Heaven help me…) “How about the briefs that Dad wears,” I suggested, “Since they don’t wrap around your legs at all?” His response was instant and vehement, “Uh-uh. I don’t want those!” Wow...duly noted! Well, then, how about boxers?” I inquired. Not having any prior experience with said apparel, he appeared puzzled, so I found myself describing what they are….and how they…work? (And again: why was it ME having this little chat? Next time I swear I’m sending him straight to the Locker Room…um “his father or brother”…)The horrified look on his face was hilarious as he blurted, “Oh, nooooo, that would be awful!” I’m not entirely sure what he was reacting so strongly to—the undesired…freedom? The vastly increased potential for wardrobe malfunction?The threat of…flapping in the breeze? This is sooooo far out of my area of expertise, y’all…

So after this detailed--if only slightly helpful or informative--exchange, off I went to Target… and simply selected another brand of boxer briefs for him to test drive. However, when I brought them home, Riley declared (in a terribly disappointed manner) “they feel exactly the same as the other ones.” Siiighhhh—Strike One. Clearly, there was only one thing left to do—that which I’d hoped fervently to avoid: drag the child to the store with me, and have him actually try on the dang things to figure out what would please him…and his picky little tushie.

Aaannnd, it went just about how you’d expect. I handed him several packages, representing The Big Two (that would be Hanes and Fruit of the Loom), in a variety of sizes and styles, and sent him off to the dressing room. After what seemed like an inordinately long delay, he emerged, huffily disgruntled, and forcefully announced that NONE of them were right. Furthermore, he didn’t want to put any more effort into it; rather, he’d make do with what he already had. (Reeeaaallly, teenager? That’s all the shopping stamina you got? Calm down, you’re with the Master. We’re gonna Get. This.Done. Even if it kills both of us…)

Next I used my…Mom Jedi Powers…to talk him down off the…sartorial ledge, and promised him that, since we now had a better idea of what we were looking for (which, as we actually still were fairly clueless, was a small, allowable Parental Fib, necessary to continue forward with the Mission) we’d do just one more fitting session before calling it quits. With fingers firmly crossed, I handed him a marginally higher-priced (but still well within reason) “premium” Hanes version, in Medium and Large, and sent him off to give them a whirl. This time, when he exited the testing zone, a smile had replaced the scowl, and he announced a WINNER. (And the waiting choir took their cue to belt out a heartfelt  “Hal-le-lu-jah”…or maybe that was just me…)


So it may have been a...marginally traumatic event...for the both of us…but the end result is that the child is quite content with his fresh, new…agreeably accommodating?...underwear. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m now buying him that exact same kind until he moves out of the house and starts doing his own blessed shopping! So there!

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Taking Care of (Your Own) Business

As someone who adores language--from the everyday nuts and bolts of grammar, to the infinite nuances that can be shaped to impart meaning--and readily admits to taking liberties with words for my own amusement whenever I darn well please, I'm always intrigued when fresh ideas show up in our collective vocabulary. As a recent illustration, take the term"adulting": although it technically breaks the rules (I know, I know, "English"...and "rules"? Bah!) by turning a noun into a verb, I can totally get behind it, because it's clear, understandable, and actually a compact way to convey something that previously required more words--such as "behaving like an adult". Anyway, I digress (shocker!)...my point was going to be that Derek has been getting some quality practice lately in...adulting.

After he got his driver's license, for example, the heretofore simple reality of his life suddenly took on more layers--some of which included the delightful "freedom"...and also its muuuuch less fun cousin..."responsibility". In this brave new world, his father, while cooking dinner and realizing that there was no relish to put on the hotdogs, could simply send Derek out to the grocery store to remedy the situation. Another instance: Derek arrived home from school and showed me his taped-together glasses (which caused an immediate panic, since I leaped to the conclusion that he'd broken a lens....and those suckers are NOT cheap).

He first calmed my hysteria by assuring me that it was nothing more serious than a screw having fallen out during class. (To which I couldn't resist sarcastically asking him if he'd been...thinking too hard. Hey, it didn't seem that farfetched, to be honest..."Teenage Boy Brain", yeah?) So I was immensely relieved by the fact that it was an easy (and free!) fix...but at the same time entirely unenthused about making the trek to My Eye Doctor at 4:30 on a weekday. (I mean, it's not D.C. traffic, or anything, but still...) And then I remembered...he could go All. By. Himself! Yaaaayyy!

Then there are other aspects of growing up that are perhaps equally as necessary, but not nearly so...pleasant. Case in point: Derek just navigated through--with supervision--his very first (drumroll) Customer Service experience. (Yes, I agree that we who have been at this adulting thing for a while should pause for a sympathy groan, here...all right, onward...) What happened was, his PlayStation just...quit working. One afternoon it was fine, the next it wouldn't turn on--or do anything else, for that matter. And for the first time in his 16 years, I informed him that, since this was his toy, he would be taking care of the problem.

And guess what he did? That's right: absolutely NOTHING...for at least a solid month. Now, I'm not sure if he was merely uncertain about how to proceed (although of course I told him I'd help--I didn't think it was fair to make him completely figure it out on his own...this time, anyway...) or lazy/unmotivated (which seems as likely a reason as any). Or was there some part of him that was waiting for ME to get impatient and just go ahead and do it for him (because his mother is Type A and tends to manage...stuff...with brutal efficiency, and he is well aware of that. But I was proud of myself--I held my ground until he finally decided to take the initiative. I win! Or whatever...)

So he did what the kids these days do, and attempted to glean the necessary information from the Internet. Notice I say "attempted" because after a while he came to me, frustrated, and railed about how "the Sony website is extremely unhelpful!" Apparently he wasn't able to find a phone number, or an email address...or anything else to lead him in the right direction. At this point I gathered it was time for some...Parental IT Support (which sounds like an oxymoron, right? Yet it happened...) and went to the computer for my own...Google intervention.

I'm not kidding--in however long it takes to return search results (what is it, like .15 seconds or something?) I had obtained a viable telephone number for him. He appeared astonished at my skill (or, you know, that an old person found a solution so quickly, using modern technology)...while I confess that I felt a bit...smug. "What did you Google?" he asked in disbelief. "Um...Sony PlayStation service?" It seemed perfectly logical to me...I didn't even think to inquire as to what HE'D typed in, that gave him back such a poor outcome. So Mom takes the Google battle, and we move on...

Next I promised that I'd stand by while he made the call. Oh, and I did step in to print the receipt from when we'd purchased the system (thank you for saving the day with your awesome policy of keeping all transaction records electronically, Amazon) and to show him where to locate the serial number, so he'd be 100% prepared to talk to a live representative. When he got connected, he did have to deal with the dreaded "your call is very important to us, please hold"...but fortunately not for too long. (After all, there's plenty of time for him to learn about that particular nightmare, later...) Then he spoke with a (reportedly) nice lady, who tried what she could, remotely, to get the machine to cooperate..before walking him through the process to send it in for repair.

Whew, he was really getting the whole Customer Service spectrum, yeah? So he provided his own email, noted the instructions, and that was that. First, a box was supposed to show up on our doorstep in 3-5 days--which it did. (So far, so good...) Next, we used the enclosed packing materials to safely cushion the console, filled out the form to send back with it, taped it up, and shipped it out. In a couple of days Derek mentioned that they'd contacted him to let him know they'd received it. Whaaat? Excellent news...dare we be...impressed? Believe it or not, it gets better--after only another day or so they declared that Mr. PS4 had successfully completed his...um..."rehabilitation", and was already on his way back (hopefully with an improved attitude).

WELL! For a first timer, that was a darn near ideal interaction with the realm of Client Relations, wouldn't you agree? I'm grateful that he had the chance to be "eased in" to such an event, because as we..."more mature" people well understand, these types of...opportunities...pop up on a regular basis in one's lifetime, and not all of them turn out to be so...satisfying. I'd call it a good trial run, and we'll keep our fingers crossed for the reward of a fully-functioning game system, when it shows up early this week. Heeeyyy...he did such a good job as a...Probationary Adult...maybe the next time I have an issue with one of our bills, I'll have HIM call. (Mwah hah hah--welcome to the club, son!)

Sunday, December 11, 2016

(More) Snippets of (the Sons') Silliness

Before kicking off today's...festivities...I will state, right up-front, that there's no coherent theme to wrap the following vignettes up into a sparkly holiday package for you. However, I trust you'll forgive me, when you see what I have to work with...

Let's begin with Riley, shall we? As previously mentioned, he's studying Spanish this year, and by all indications is enjoying it so far. This pleases me immensely, not only because it's nice to actually watch him growing in the language, and to practice with him, but also because the experience is so fundamentally different for me than when Derek took it. Now, please believe me when I tell you that this is in NO way meant to criticize my older child, but the truth is that he just didn't love learning Espanol. He certainly put in the time, did the work, and got good grades, but he lacked any passion toward it...and we all accepted that. (Wait, you mean...he's not ME? Gasp!)

But Riley seems to be much more enthused and motivated about the subject--for example, he's taken to putting together a Spanish sentence and casually tossing it out into conversation. So, he'll tell me that he's "writing with a pencil" or "studying history" or...."wearing pants". (Hey, after only 13 weeks, his vocabulary remains a bit...limited. Let's just celebrate the fact that the last one was a positive statement, rather than the opposite. It's the little things, right?) However...the other day he was headed downstairs and as he passed me, he breezily tossed over his shoulder, "Adios! Voy a caminar con el queso!"

I absentmindedly started to wave goodbye to him...then did one of those theatrical double-takes as I processed the (perfectly grammatical and properly pronounced, at least) nonsense that had just issued from his boca. "You're going to walk...the CHEESE?" I called after his retreating back. With a huge grin he replied, "Eh, I decided to replace 'dog'...to make it more interesting!" Oh, well of course you did. I suppose I reeealllly shouldn't be surprised, since Riley has grown up hearing one of his role models (that would be Husband, in case you couldn't guess) frequently (and inexplicably) using the expression "Vaya con huevos!" Yes, that's "Go with...eggs." (Don't ask me why, because I haven't a clue, but rest assured he did NOT get it from me! Ay yi yi...)

And then, it wouldn't be a true WestEnders post without a contribution from Derek. Since 'tis the season, and whatnot, I'd been nagging him--um "gently reminding...frequently"--to provide some sort of Christmas Wish List so Santa....Mom...would have a ballpark idea of what to get him. (And can I just go all tangential for a moment and declare that the last few years have made me somewhat nostalgic for the Days Gone by, when I could make a fun trip to the local toy store, pick up some Legos or Nerf gear or Thomas trains and know that my job was not only done, but successful? Yeah...good times...)

After a while I lost any guilt I'd been feeling for not knowing instinctively what my child wanted....because he kept waffling...and dithering...and finally declared that he, himself, wasn't sure what to ask for. FINALLY one night he brought me a slip of paper with several suggestions (Bonus: they were even reasonable and viable ones!) and walked me through it so I'd be clear on exactly what he meant. As he handed it to me and prepared to go back to his hibernation den--I mean "bedroom"--I teasingly said, "I don't know, buddy. Have you been a good boy this year?" He paused dramatically to appear as if he was actually contemplating the question for a moment (it's one of his best impressions--I like to call it "Struggling to Overcome Teenage Boy Brain") before stating matter-of-factly, "Eh, you know...meeting expectations...but at the same time, not raising the bar..."

Oh. Good. Grief. And that, my friends, I believe might just be the ultimate pithy summary of Life with Derek. Perhaps, then, it's only fair that I apply the same principle when shopping for his gifts, yeah? (Dang, that would have been the perfect comeback...if only I'd thought of it, you know, a week ago when we were in the middle of this exchange. ..siiighhh...) Anyway, that's enough of the ridiculousness for the moment. So, adios! Voy a...tomar una siesta (NO con el queso)!

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Ho ho ho...and whatnot

In my own happy little corner of Fantasyland, you know how I always envision putting up the Christmas tree? It's a thoroughly touching scene, really--the children ooh and aah delightedly over the ornaments as they work together to lovingly place them on the branches. Meanwhile, we reminisce with heartwarming stories of holidays past, and share our wishes for what we hope will be under the beautifully adorned (faux, but whatever) pine on December 25th.

Hahahahahahahaha! Whew, that was a pleasant daydream. I forgot, for just a second, the teensy detail that prevents all this from happening: the people I call "my family"...are a group of unabashedly...big old gooberheads. You know what's coming, right? Yep, examples to illustrate my point. Well, to start with, remember how I exempt myself from the "assembling" and "installing lights" steps in the fir-decorating process? So I was in the next room over, pretty much ignoring what I assumed was much nonsense surrounding the Male Posse's activities. Suddenly, Husband called out loudly enough to get my attention, "What's the Spanish word for tree?" What you have to understand here is that Riley just started taking the language this semester, and has gotten pretty interested in it already, so  even though I was missing the context, it actually made sense to me that he might want to know this. 

"Arbol," I calmly replied, making a conscious decision to continue with my own business and NOT ask any questions. That is, until I heard uproarious laughter from the guys. Okay....I'll bite...what's so dang funny? Derek, hidden behind a particularly voluminous section of the flora in question and seemingly struggling to wrangle it into position, peeked his head out, shot me a wicked smirk, and repeated for my benefit, "I can't see the bosque for the arbols!" ("forest for the trees", en ingles...)

AAAAARRRRRGH! Let me 'splain to you the ways in which this is sooooo wrong: 1) he purposely pronounced "bosque" like "boss-kwee" rather than the correct "bose-kay", because a friend of his, who reportedly...ahem...let's go with "doesn't take Spanish very seriously", says it this way to be funny. It causes me physical pain to hear it, I tell ya...and he is well aware of that. Horrible brat. 2) the proper plural form of "arbol" is "arboles", spoken with all 3 syllables (ar-bo-les). I swear, 3 years of Espanol, and the kid can't (or won't) use it to Save. His Life. (Which he may very well be forced to do, if he chooses to repeat that kind of behavior on a regular basis...) Siiiighhhhhhh....

Finally, it was time to do the actual "making it look festive" part. And to be honest, we did enjoy revisiting the special ornaments we've collected over the years...with the possible exception of a couple of handmade preschool creations that decided to fall apart this season, for some reason. Oddly enough, one was Riley's, one was Derek's...and they were both from 2007. "Eh, 2007...not my best year," Derek cracked, as I said goodbye to the damaged goods. (Not terribly sentimental, that one...but I have to admit I wasn't heartbroken either, to lose a gingerbread cookie on a string, and a foam snowflake with glued-on sequins. Now that I think about it, though, I should have pretended to be distraught...and demanded that they make me new ones! Dang it--why didn't I think of that sooner? There's always next year...mwah hah hah!) 

So, one of the decorations that goes on every year is a...pickle. (Made of glass, fortunately! I'm not really sure why I felt I needed to clarify that...) This was given to us by a friend at one of our annual holiday fiestas; the story is that you're supposed to hide it somewhere amongst the foliage, and whoever finds it first on Christmas morning gets an extra present. Okay, we never adhere to that particular tradition, but we do display it every year and invariably get a good giggle out of it nevertheless. Anyway, this year, I think it was Riley who asked, "Didn't we used to have mistletoe that we hung up (in our house in Maryland)?" (No, I'm not clear where the segue was, either...but then again, I'm never 100% certain with this crew...just stick with me...)

I confirmed that we indeed used to suspend mistletoe from the light fixture in the living room. Then I believe Husband (since it was apparently his turn to be ridiculous) suggested that we could put the pickle up somewhere instead. (What, for people to walk under and...pucker? Who the heck knows? I do not endeavor to explain the Westman psyche, no sirree...) But...wait for the punchline...Derek immediately piped up and added, "Yeah, 'cuz nothing says Christmas like...a MISTLE-PICKLE!" (Oh. Good. Grief. Forehead, meet palm...)

And then when we were all finished with our masterpiece (which may be a strong word...but we were at least...moderately satisfied? Sufficiently pleased? Sure, we'll go with that...)...Heaven help me....it was time to take the mandatory Team WestEnders photo. You know, the one that must be done, in order to include it on the seasonal cards, which can't be ordered until we have an acceptable shot of all four of us. What does this mean, you may be asking yourself? Oh, not much...just a few minor things like: everyone sporting a smile, but not guffawing at some stupid wisecrack their brother just made...Derek's eyes open (Why oh WHY can't this child keep himself from blinking at the exact moment the shutter clicks Every. Single. Time?)...no one making a strained "hurry up and get this over with" face (yeah, good luck with that one)...oh, and my hair looking reasonably....well-behaved, at least. (DUH!) 

So...yeah...you can imagine that this takes a while. First, of course, I need to re-learn how to operate the self-timer on my camera...since I use it exactly once a year (at approximately this same time...go figure...). Here's Derek "helping" me get the settings right. You'll undoubtedly notice that I gave up on trying to tell them what to wear, as evidenced by the eye-scorchingly pink soccer shorts he opted to model. And the homemade shooting sleeve. Also the rakish...safari hat--which I have no earthly idea why he dug out of the closet for this occasion. (Seriously, am I even related to these people? Sometimes I wonder...)
Testing...testing (my patience!)
 Once the directions have been refreshed in my memory, and the initial test-frames have been taken, we're ready...for a whole boatload of shoot-and-delete efforts. All those criteria I mentioned before? Um...let's just say I'm ever-so-grateful for the digital age in which we live, so I'm not wasting film on these...less-than-Kodak moments. (Does Kodak even exist anymore? Well, you know what I'm saying...)

And since we're not, you know, wasting resources, when we've captured at least one version that I feel is worthy of sending out to friends and family, I allow the Yuletide gremlins to express their holiday spirit...by acting like the mischievous imps they truly are, deep down inside. As you can see, Riley insisted that we take one picture in which all of us held a stuffed animal from his collection. (Sometimes he's 13 going on 25, and other times....not so much....) I have no answers as to why Husband is recreating the Heisman pose...or Derek is wearing a frog on his head...or throwing gang signs. But I get all mushy inside when I see how Riley is cradling Blue Bear...his favorite cuddly friend from when he was a baby...even though he's now taller than me. (Awww....sniffle...) Oh, and my hair looks fairly in-control, so there's that.

Eventually, we get a good-enough photo--NOT like the one below. (Derek's eyes shut...Riley's vain attempt not to burst out laughing. Huh...Husband and I are okay, though...maybe we should crop out the children next year? Just a thought...) Aaaannnd...we can call it a wrap. Time to drown my...sorrows? Nah....frustrations? Maybe...holiday angst--yeah, that's it! This calls for Christmas cocoa and cookies, for the (admittedly self-designated, but there it is) hardest-working elf on Team WestEnders...whoo hoo!


Saturday, December 3, 2016

Easy Rider?

Although I assume I learned to ride a bike at the usual age of 6 or so, I don't remember pedaling much after Middle School. (Who knows, maybe I outgrew my first 2-wheeler...or got lazy--I'll admit that either one is possible. I wasn't always such a devotedly active chick, believe it or not...) That is, until I met and started dating the guy-who-would-later-become-Husband. You see, he was an avid cyclist, and it seemed to be something we might want to do together. So I bought my first "grown-up bike" and we began taking long jaunts together on weekends.

This reminded me of how much I enjoyed gliding along--feeling the rays of the sun warming my body, and the tendrils of the breeze, which you create from your efforts, cooling it off--and reawakened my enthusiasm for the pastime. Now, you'll notice I mentioned weather that seems characteristic of a certain season...namely Summer. I have to say that there's pretty much no level of heat or even humidity that deters me from getting on my bike, because the air flowing past you always feels a bit cooler and helps moderate the situation...at least somewhat. (Well, also I don't live in, for example, Arizona where it's 120 degrees in July. "Dry heat", my patootie...that's just crazy conditions...um, "in my humble opinion", of course...)

Anyway, my point is this: in Maryland, I was always a May-ish-to-around-September rider, because as soon as the mercury dropped below (and I'm almost ashamed to confess this) about...70...I switched to the indoor exer-cycle until the following Spring. I know, totally wimpy, right? But I believe we have already established quite firmly that I do NOT possess the constitution...or even mental toughness...required for dealing with cold. So for years I just shrugged, told myself "it is what it is" and didn't attempt to do anything about it.

Then we moved 300 miles south, to a place where you see people on bicycles All. Year. Long. I'm not kidding, nothing stops them--not freezing temperatures, or unpleasant precipitation, or gusty winds. Okay, to be perfectly honest, I do look at these folks and think "What are you, NUTS?" But suddenly, for reasons unknown, this Fall for the first time a little voice piped up in my brain and suggested, "Hey...why not at least try to expand your comfort zone...a little bit?" After all, we do live in a region where you can pretty much commune with the Great Outdoors in all 4 seasons, so maybe I'm not going to go all crazy and commit to pushing the pedals in the dead of Winter...but let's start small, shall we? Say...on a 55 degree day?

That seemed reasonable enough--and not too scary--so the day before Thanksgiving I hopped on my bike to tool around the neighborhoods near my house for a while. Aaaannnd I can state with a whole lotta conviction: WOW, was I miserable! The very light breeze cut right through my jacket, chilling me to the bone...and since I don't own anything besides "fashionable gloves", my hands felt like blocks of ice when I was done. Oh, and it took 3 hours before I could even feel them again. Yikes...sooooo NOT a successful experiment.

Except...it provided me a clear idea of what needed to happen, should I wish to give this another shot. Namely, I would have to obtain some appropriate gear to keep myself protected from the elements (because I'm here to tell ya that hypothermia...and nearly-frostbitten fingers...are NO FUN, y'all). Therefore I made a foray to Dick's Sporting Goods for gloves...lightweight, wind-and-rain repellent material, fleecy inside, grippy palms...with the super-special bonus feature of a terrycloth panel on the thumb...for snot or sweat-wiping. (Hmm...functional...yet hilarious. Also...ewwww! I'll just continue to carry tissues, as has been my habit since High School, thanks anyway...)

Next, the all-important outerwear to shield my torso. For this I had to venture online--and do quite a bit of searching. I mean, do you have any idea what they charge for cycling jackets? Suffice it to say: too freakin' much. Given my ingrained tendency toward frugality when it comes to apparel purchases (Let's put it this way: I'm basically a "Kohl's shopper", not a "Lord & Taylor" kind of girl), I was unwilling to shell out $100 or more for one article of clothing. Finally, after a great deal of clicking and rejecting, I stumbled upon one that was not only on sale, but offered an additional coupon code that brought it down to less than half-price. (Who knows why--maybe it's considered "last year's model"? Don't care...SCORE!) Zips all the way up to the chin if you want; insulating, weatherproof construction; extra length in the sleeves to pull down over your hands...in short, exactly what was required.

Okay, now equipped with the right accessories I had no excuse for putting it off any longer. Another day in the low 50s, a wide-open American Tobacco Trail, and away we go! And you know what? It was awesome! I could tell that there was a light wind, but it wasn't penetrating my jacket to make me shiver. And I actually didn't need the full gloves (although I brought them along, securely stowed in my zippered pockets...with my tissues...just in case) but I made good use of the jacket's hand-warming capabilities to cover all but my fingers, which was enough in this situation.

That's right, there I was, sailing down the path, properly dressed...toasty...and pretty doggone pleased with myself, to tell you the truth. I'm almost 100% sure that this marked the first time in my personal history that I've managed a bike ride...in December. So, realistically I know that--regardless of my newfound resolve--50 is probably going to be my firm break point for how chilly it can be for me to get out there and cycle. But here in North Carolina, 50-degree days generally happen here and there all through the Winter, so I may just be achieve that "year-round-rider" goal after all. And if I do end up frosty and numb on occasion? Well, there's always hot chocolate when I get back into the cozy house...as a reward for my hard work and suffering. Whoo hoo!

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Holidays...then and now...

As I remember it from my childhood (which in the interest of full disclosure, may or may not be 100% accurate...but "it's my story, and I'm sticking to it" as they say...), my family’s “season of traditions” seemed to officially kick off with the over-the-river-and-through-the-woods trek to my Great-Aunt Renie and Great-Uncle Ralph’s apartment for the Thanksgiving feast. (Well…actually it was more like “down Interstate 270”…and “across the Baltimore/Washington Beltway”…but you get the picture…) I remember a couple of things so clearly: the first order of business when we arrived was always to get me a cold glass of ginger ale, since the 45- minute backseat passenger experience invariably left me nauseated...and the absolutely staggering amount of food my great aunt prepared, as though she were feeding a small army, rather than 5 extra people. (But did anyone complain? Don’t be silly--it was a giddy, celebratory gorge-a-thon, I tell ya!)

Incidentally, after Ralph and Renie retired to Florida (I think I was in college by then), my mom took over the Turkey Day duties. Later, when Team WestEnders came to be, we would make the half-hour journey from our suburb to my parents’ house (but fortunately no one ever got carsick). My mother followed the same pattern of creating a veritable food-a-palooza…ensuring that it would rival even Christmas as one of Derek’s most beloved holidays. Seriously, the more helpings her oldest grandchild tucked away, the more my mother beamed with pleasure. (So really, he was just trying to make Grammy happy…yeah, that’s it…) Before and after the meal, the cousins (5 in all, in a 7-year age range) would run amok while the adults—sedated by calories--would sink into couches, relax, and chat.

Now (stick with me), back to the past--on the ride home from my great aunt and uncle's, my mother would find Christmas music on the radio…or maybe pop in an 8-track tape, for all I know—I was woozy from the late hour and the carb overload by this point…much to my father’s disgruntlement. (She always won the battle, though…Dad didn't stand a chance once the holiday spirit overtook that woman...) Then the next day, the all-important “decking the halls” was accomplished, which involved hauling the boxes of decorations down from the attic and distributing everything into its proper place under Mom’s watchful eyes (and with copious amounts of...ahem..."helpful guidance").

In the next week or two, our fearless leader (yep, that would be Mom again, in case you had any doubt) would drag—I mean “escort”—us to a local tree farm of her choosing, where we would tromp through the woods (which I love, of course) in the cold (which I soooo totally do NOT appreciate, as you well know), examining oh, approximately a thousand specimens, before our matriarch would finally decree that one of them was acceptable. At this point, Dad and/or the helpful attendant would be charged with cutting it down and loading it onto the top of the car…and we could finally go the heck home…for hot chocolate (probably my favorite part, honestly. Do you blame me?).

So why the trip down Memory Lane? Well…a heartwarming bit of nostalgia for ME, obviously. But also for my boys to understand where some of their own traditions are rooted (and to be assured that their mother’s not just, you know, “making stuff up as she goes along”…although this is positively the case at times…shhh! Let’s keep that between us, yeah? Thanks…) Now, obviously when we moved to North Carolina the Thanksgiving routine changed. For Team WestEnders, this now means that the trio of boys heads out to the southern grandparents’ abode, while I stay home and concoct a gluten-free, vegan buffet for myself, before taking an overnight excursion for my own education and entertainment. It may seem like an odd setup to some…but it definitely works for us.

Just like my mom, however, I allow myself to begin basking in the holiday tunes as early as the Friday after Thanksgiving….even if the rest of my clan isn’t quite on board with this. For example, the boys and I got into the car the other day for an errand, and as soon as I turned on the radio, Riley groaned and said, “Ugh…is that Christmas music?” (He delivered this with all the drama and disgust that he might have inquired something like, "Ew, is that liver on my plate?" It was quite a performance.) "Why yes, my dear, it is—and you can suck it up." (That last part may have been implied…but I’m sure he got it.) 

He added, adamantly, “I don’t like to hear this stuff until about…December 10th. Then it’s fine for a few weeks.” Okay, clearly he’s considered his opinion, and has developed a firm stance. Bravo for him…but still too bad. To further illustrate his position, he shared that one of his friends has taken to singing carols in P.E. during their warmups—to which Riley’s response was to shun him and walk with someone else! (And can I just say: Jeez, dude…how about you give the cheerful little elf a break!)

Then Derek had to get into the conversation; he commented, “Is this the Beatles?” Um…what the WHAT? I glanced at him incredulously in the rear view mirror, and informed him that we were, in fact, enjoying the upbeat strains of Merry Christmas, Baby, by the BEACH BOYS. He was unapologetic, however, as he replied, “Eh, I get them mixed up.” While I processed the sheer nonsense of this statement he chuckled and asked, “Is that painful…for someone your age?” Oh...excuse me? Actually, yes it is…but maybe not quite as much as you using that particular phrase on me, my precious child. Sheesh! (And for the record, while I can differentiate the Fab Four from Mike Love and company…I’d like to unequivocally state that… I’m not THAT old…)

Anyway, moving on: as for the casa, it gets all kinds of fa-la-la-ed before the Thanksgiving weekend is over as well. Because I’m…picky (compulsive…control freak…whatever)…about where things go, I don’t require (er..."permit") any assistance in the process. Nope, the Male Posse is saved for the next big thing, which of course is the Evergreen Extravaganza. Now, for years we used to get a fresh tree—riiiight up until I realized that the reason I was getting a sinus infection every single December was due to the presence of either the needles themselves, or the mold that grows on a large, dead plant when you keep it inside. (How's that for festive, yeah?) Whatever the reason, once we switched to an artificial version—voila!—no more antibiotics for Christmas.

So the gentlemen, working as a smooth, seamless unit, unpack the branches and commence building ye olde tannenbaum.  Ha! Who am I trying to kid? There is generally much goofing off, a fair amount of silly behavior (such as attempting to fence with the longer pieces—true story, this has happened more than once), quite a few smart-aleck remarks, and a smattering of curses (from Husband…when he reaches the critical, yet  fraught-with-peril “stringing of the lights” portion of the event. Come to think of it, this very much reminds me of my own father and his yearly Battle of the Twinkling Strands. NOT necessarily the warm and fuzzy tradition you want to perpetuate, but what can you do? Those things have a mind of their own...). Is it any wonder that I retreat upstairs, and avoid the whole scene, until they declare it “ready for ornaments”?

But once the adorning of the faux fir begins, we have a great time pulling out our eclectic mixture of baubles…preschool crafts made of popsicle sticks, modeling clay, and construction paper…special keepsakes given to us by friends and family over the years…mementos from our vacations…even the tacky Hallmark Store ornaments that I used to let the kids choose each December (and that they utterly refuse to give up). Each one is treasured, and hung with love in a carefully-chosen spot…that I will most likely rearrange after everyone else has left the room, to achieve my own standard of aesthetically-pleasing arrangement. (Yeah, yeah…that’s Madam Control Freak to you, okay?) Sometimes this occurs earlier than anticipated—such as when the goofballs get rambunctious and start chucking things haphazardly onto the tree. Then they’re unceremoniously banished, of course.

Let’s see, what other charming rituals do we have? Oh yes: the classic holiday shows that we like to view at some point during the season. We have a very short list of Must-Sees, including How the Grinch Stole Christmas (which I can recite, word-for-word...don't test me unless you want to hear the whole thing, right now...), A Charlie Brown Christmas (obviously), A Muppet Family Christmas (cracks us up…Every. Time.), and The Year Without a Santa Clause (because truly, you never outgrow Heat Miser/Snow Miser, do you?). Now, Husband tried at some point to introduce another one, that he used to watch with his mother, during his own childhood. It’s called Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas…and in my humble opinion, it’s…well, exactly as awful as it sounds. All I can tell you is that it’s like…cheesy, singing…hillbilly Muppets. Shudder—I got through it once, then forbade it from being shown in our house ever again. I can still hear the hokey warbling of those unfortunate musical numbers in my nightmares, I tell ya.

So, there you have it. It'll be interesting to see which of the holiday customs my sons continue, once they grow up and have their own households. I'm guessing that poultry-less Thanksgiving dinners...and Christmas songs...would not be high on the list. But I'd be glad to offer my ornament-organizing services, should their trees need some...sprucing up. (Ha! Sorry...). And I'll watch any of the holiday videos their hearts desire...with the exception of the otter-who-shall-not-be-named! Whew--all this talk of food, and the joyful season, blah blah blah, has put me in the mood for a treat. I'm gonna go scrounge in the kitchen for hot chocolate...and some gluten-free cookies! Mmmmm.....

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Quality Time with Charlotte

Well, the extended holiday revelry marched merrily on, when I woke up in Charlotte on Saturday morning. Since I had a 2+ hour drive back to my part of the state, I decided it'd be a grand idea to start my morning with a few activities--before sitting on my behind and staring at a highway. First up: a neighborhood known as Southend, which according to my online research is an area that's both historical (founded around the 1850s)...and newly revitalized (spruced up in the 1990s). Yep, totally sounds like my kinda place.

I drove into the city and presumed that the first order of business would be figuring out where to park. However, I quickly found an open spot...right on the street....without a meter. I admit this left me perplexed; with a great deal of my residential or recreational experience occurring in locations such as Bethesda, Washington D.C., Baltimore, and even Chapel Hill--all of which require you to pay at least a nominal fee to leave your vehicle--I was completely thrown by the unfamiliar concept of...FREE parking.

There were precious few other pedestrians around at this hour, but if anyone had been watching me, they probably would have thought I appeared mighty suspicious, walking around the cars in front of mine, reading the informational sign several times to make sure I understood it correctly, and searching for special permits, hidden kiosks where you were supposed to leave money...or tickets to prove one was not, in fact, meant to be there. Nope...nothing. Alrighty, then--I took a deep breath and strolled away...trying my best to exude an air of nonchalance...and innocence. (Or--at the very least--cluelessness, so if a Traffic Enforcement Officer questioned me, I could pull off a believable "But I really thought it was okay to park here, sir/ma'am!")

With that issue (hopefully) resolved, I could get on with...exploring. In my immediate line of sight were a couple of gorgeous houses (speaking to the "historical" nature), as well as some small, independent shops (that would be the "updated" character). As I walked down what seemed to be the main drag, I got a sense of Southend's hip-and-happening personality: funky boutiques; unique eateries, coffee shops, and brewpubs; creative art emporiums; modern-chic apartment buildings, and an impressive array of small businesses. All-in-all, it was a super-cool place to meander, on another dazzling Fall morning.

Next up: one more Fall hike for the weekend, at the McDowell Nature Preserve. (Fulfilling my personal mantra: "never miss an opportunity to tromp through the woods"...or something like that...) Brilliant Autumn colors all around, crisp leaves crunching underfoot...and a lovely lake to admire. What more could you want? After stretching my legs and breathing in the fresh outdoor air for a while, I was ready to tackle the pavement and return to the homestead...where I would be treated to one more night of house-to-myself.

To what did I owe this unexpected boon? You see, normally the boys choose to return from South Carolina on Saturday, as Husband prefers a "buffer day" between traveling and getting back to the daily grind. However, this year Derek threw a monkey wrench into that scenario, by stating that there were important college football games (apparently beginning at noon and continuing until, oh, approximately DAWN, to hear him tell it) that he'd miss if they were on the road.

Mind you, he delivered this with just a hint of incredulity in his voice, as though he were shocked that one would even consider being in an automobile, rather than in front of a television, for such momentous events. Although I did my best to repress it, I couldn't help giving a small snicker after his proclamation. My mistake--he rounded on me and snapped, "It's RIVALRY WEEK!"

Well! Right, then...forgive me for not taking you seriously! (By which I actually mean "Yes, I understand what you're saying...but please don't confuse me with someone who cares AT ALL." Carry on...) So the upshot is that they get an additional day of gluttony and nationally broadcasted sporting events...and I get the equally wonderful extra day of delicious leftovers, watching my own recorded shows, and storing up the atmosphere of quiet calm...for when the chaos--ahem..."my beloved family"...returns.

Hmmm...there's still pumpkin pie in the fridge...but with Thanksgiving officially over, I'm allowed (per my mother's teachings--bless her little pea pickin' heart) to listen to Christmas music...and decorate the house. Whoo hoo--I know how I'm using my Bonus Alone-Time!

Saturday, November 26, 2016

"Opt Outside" Field Trip

While the Male Posse revels in their inevitable food-and-football coma with the parents/grandparents, I have begun my own tradition of taking a solo sojourn to a new locale during their absence. I choose someplace far enough away that I have to stay overnight--so it feels like a mini-vacation--then I pack my camera (and...a bunch of other stuff--let's face it, I'm not what you'd call a "roughing it" kind of girl) and go. This year I set my sights on Brattonsville, a plantation and battlefield (It was like a two-for-one deal...on Black Friday! How could I possibly go wrong?), several hours southwest of the Triangle, just over the border of the other Carolina.

I must have remembered to put in my request for spectacular weather, because what I got was a breezy, sunny 75-degree day--in short: absolutely perfect road trip conditions. When I arrived (and shed my fleece jacket...because I dressed like it was the day after Thanksgiving, NOT...Native American Summer. What? I'm trying to be culturally sensitive, here, people...) I found a pleasing array of buildings to wander in and out of, wooded grounds to explore, and lots of interesting history to absorb. Here's the Cliffs Notes version: in July of 1780, the homestead and surrounding forest were the site of a skirmish between British forces led by Captain Christian Huck and a group of American patriots headed by Captain John McClure and Colonel William Bratton. Although the fighting reportedly lasted only 10 minutes, Huck was killed during the action, and the rebels prevailed.

This explains why the conflict came to be known as "The Battle of Huck's Defeat". It supposedly served to bolster morale of the American army at a time when the British had been racking up victory after victory and seemed close to winning the entire war. Evidently it encouraged more recruits to sign up, reviving the flagging militia, and also set up larger successes in the coming months, culminating in the British surrender at Yorktown, just over a year later.

So, I had already experienced a very satisfying dose of education on a gorgeous afternoon...and still had some daylight left to burn. I was bunking for the night in Charlotte--because I figured there would be nothing in good old...McConnell, SC. (And whoo boy, was I right! Gas stations and low-quality fast food, yes. Places to sleep? Not so much...) Fortunately, I had thought ahead, and researched a couple of promising Fun Things to Do in the city, planning to squeeze in one last tourist outing before heading home the next day. So I went ahead and picked one, powered up the GPS, and headed back (slightly) north. The only thing to note about the return to civilization was that, after my ever-so-brief excursion into another state, the very polite Navigation Lady startled me by announcing, "Welcome to North Carolina!"

(Yeah, I must have been suffering a low-blood-sugar moment--very likely, as you'll recall I mentioned there wasn't anything appetizing for a gluten-free vegan in the immediate vicinity of my destination. Anyway, it cracked me up...probably more than it should have--but either that's a new feature, or we've never crossed state boundaries while using Maps before, because I'd never heard her say anything like that. Okay, back on topic...)

Next I ended up at UNC...Charlotte, a lovely campus filled with red brick structures, lots of green space...and a Botanical Garden nestled right smack dab in the middle of it. I swear, it was like a woodland oasis, with an impressive variety of trees; quaint, inviting bridges scattered throughout, encouraging you to meander to and fro; and delightful surprises every which way you turned. Oriental pagoda...lily pond...mosaic sculpture...and so much more. And with the foliage having reached the utmost height of its Fall glory, it was altogether pretty darn breathtaking.

When the light was failing and sunset approached, I wrapped up my sightseeing and set out to find my evening's HQ...aka "Hyatt Place". Speaking of which, I'm finding a theme developing--last year I snagged a super-nice hotel room for approximately HALF what they normally charge. Having achieved the same thing once again, I have to conclude that they're just not very busy during this holiday weekend. Well--it works for me! And...now, I don't know if they pay him extra to be sweet, or if he's just a natural charmer...but when I checked in, the first thing the clerk said to me was, "What a beautiful speaking voice you have! Do you sing? I can tell!" He could totally have been making s...tuff up, but it made my night, I tell ya.

But then...the first room he put me in had a teensy plumbing problem. (The pipe under the sink in the kitchen nook just...wasn't attached. We call that a "flood waiting to happen", am I right?) No worries--he moved me immediately, with abject apologies...to a room where the TV refused to work. Sigh..."you know, I hate to be a bother, but..." Not to be outdone, he stopped by, himself, to set things right. (How he managed to get the device to behave is a mystery to me...but its attitude seems to have been straightened out...)

And then, just to make sure I was completely content, he offered, "Can I bring you a cookie?" Why YES, yes you may, my friend. He showed up a few minutes later with a bottle of water...and a cookie that was approximately the size of my HEAD and oozing chocolate because he'd warmed it up for me. Proving irrefutably the old adage: all's well that ends well...and now I'm going to watch TV....and succumb to my sugar crash, thankyouverymuch!

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Thankful...and stuffed!

I'd like to take a moment to welcome everyone to Thanksgiving 2016...which I, personally, am spending in my house...All. By. Myself. Now, you'll notice I didn't say "all by my lonesome", because, well...I relish the peace and quiet. You see, whenever Husband takes the boys to South Carolina to visit his parents--a couple of times a year--I get several blessed days of solitude. It's basically a Time Out from the usual bustle and responsibilities of my life...and I L-O-V-E it. 

However, when I mention that I'll be on my own for the holiday, I get different reactions. Some folks are startled...or confused...and look at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted another head, before politely schooling their features into bland interest and saying something noncommittal like, "Oh...that's...nice? On the other hand, there are those who nod knowingly--and perhaps a mite jealously--and just GET it. They understand that I'm not weird (yeah, yeah, I hear ya--maybe I am, but not about THIS, okay?) or a hermit, but just a chick who needs to recharge once in a while...away from her fellow human beings.

So, how does one hypothetically fill her solo hours? To start with, we RUN! Last year I signed up for the Gallop & Gorge 8K...and since I survived it the first time, I figured I might as well go for it again. Because let's face it: it's good to do a 5 mile race...exactly once a year....whether I need it or not. It didn't hurt that when I went to pick up my bib, the swag that they were giving away was....a locally-made, mini pie. Um....yes, please! (Not gluten-free...don't care...scarfing that baby down the night before, anyway!) And believe me, when that alarm went off at 7 a.m., and I had to crawl out of bed, dress for a chilly, damp morning...and then go pound the pavement BEFORE COFFEE...I was definitely questioning my motivation...sanity...whatever.

One nice thing about it is that it's a super-popular event, with 1,500 participants this year. Even though I saw absolutely no one I recognized in the entire crowd, somehow chugging along with that many other runners gives you encouragement to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. And I'm not gonna lie, just like a year ago, it was not easy. But unlike last time, I never had to talk myself out of slowing down to a walk...and I ended up finishing faster as well (even while suffering some... unpleasant effects from last night's rebellious pie consumption--oops!). And that leads me to the BEST thing about the whole shebang: when you're done, your activity quota for the day has been met (and then some--11,000 steps by 9 a.m., dude!), and you can move on to the eating extravaganza....sans guilt!

Speaking of the dining portion of our day...before they left for points south, Husband was chatting about the upcoming long weekend and enthused, "What's not to like? It's a holiday...with pumpkin pie!" Oh, MAN! Thanks, dear--now I neeeeeeed pumpkin pie! Hmmm...how can I make that happen? Well, let's start with a gluten-free crust (that contained other stuff I’m not technically supposed to have, but it’s Thanksgiving…and PIE, so we’ll just make an exception and deal with the consequences, right?). Then I perused the Inter-Webs for a vegan recipe, so the filling doesn’t contain any extra eggs or dairy…whoo hoo! Dessert: check.

Other than that, the only thing I really miss about the enormous meal is...the stuffing. Of course, in order to achieve an acceptable version these days, it now must be not only sans-chicken-broth, but gluten-free as well. (‘Cuz, you know,  I need more layers of challenge for my non-thrilled-with-cooking self...) And what else, to round out the feast? Oh yeah: mashed cauliflower, to replace the potato course! Again with the Googling for directions, and yet another--successful, fortunately--jaunt to Whole Foods for the gluten-free bread cubes (because I'm Just. That. Lazy. a "chef"...and if I'm going to be concocting these delicacies for one person, I'm looking for shortcuts, dang it!) Finally, one last issue: the carton of gravy I scrounged out of the pantry was not only expired, but contained soy, which is on my current Don’t List, so I feared the worst when scouring the store for a substitute. But voila! Whole Foods comes through again, with a vegan mushroom gravy! Yessssss! Soooo....done, and done!

Oh, and when I actually threw all these dishes together? You would NEVER have guessed the stuffing was gluten-free...it tasted exactly how it should have, and was totally delicious and satisfying. The cauliflower is honestly pretty hard to mess up, so I'm happy to report that, as expected, it turned out yummy as well. As for the piece de resistance? Well...the pumpkin pie was absolutely freakin' fabulous, y'all. Seriously--dietary restrictions aside--I believe that this particular rendition would please anyone's palate. Aaannnnd the rest of it sits in the refrigerator...all for MEEEEE! (But...I'd better start planning how I'm going to get a whole boatload more steps in the next few days, to work off my Solo Thanksgiving Carb Fest--ha!)


Saturday, November 19, 2016

Ridiculous Teenage Randomness...

So, for today's round of WestEnders silliness, I offer you these snippets of actual, unadulterated (pun sort-of-intended) conversations that happened in various encounters with my precious offspring this past week:

One evening when I was relaxing in front of the TV, I heard Derek come down and begin rustling around in the kitchen. This is his usual routine, to pack his lunch before turning in for the night, so I didn't think anything of it. But I needed some tea, so I wandered in...and caught him putting something back in the pantry, with his mouth suspiciously full of...an unidentified...crunchy substance.

Now, having been a parent for quite a while...and knowing my child as I do...I had no trouble instantly putting the proverbial two and two together, so I demanded, "Are you eating COOKIES?" His red face and sheepish grin confirmed his guilt better than any verbal confession could have, but he still made a valiant attempt to dodge the question by answering, "Um...maybe?"

Then, before I had time to formulate a reply, he threw in, "Hey, I'm just practicing for college!" Well...he might be an adolescent male, with the blessed metabolism of a hyperactive fruit fly, but I still have to do my job...so I gave him my best Mom Glare and scolded, "That's a terrible idea--it's bedtime! You're not playing soccer this season; you don't need the extra calories at this time of night!"

However, I must have momentarily forgotten that I was attempting to use logic and reason on a 16-year old (I know, I know...silly me), because his response was a perfectly noncommittal shrug, a slight smirk, and the retort, "Hey, I run...once a month..." Siiiighhhhh...I give up. Thus my new motto shall be: Let them eat Oreos...

Okay, the next little gem isn't immediately related, but bear with me, it ties in later. Another night this week when Husband was out of town on a business trip, the boys were eating dinner together and talking about school. Derek shared that in A.P. Bio they're studying chromosomes...and in discussing the difference between males and females, the teacher told them to remember: "Y = Penis".

Having met the man in person at several Back-to-School nights, since this is Derek's second class with him (for obvious reasons, yeah? I swear, I'd take his course if I could--he always sounds like such a hoot...), I have a very clear picture in my head of him imparting this wisdom to a room full of students...and I was cracking up already. But wait, there's more! Derek continued, "Then he told us that if any of us called that out in our Math class, he'd bail us out of trouble with the administration...and give us extra credit!" Oh. Dear. Heaven. Can you imagine? Somehow I don't think Derek's Pre-Calc instructor--a petite blond lady who seems quite serious about her subject--would appreciate that...

Now pay attention--here comes the segue: after finishing his meal, Derek declined dessert, which would have been shocking, and cause me to, I don't know, take his temperature or something, if he hadn't announced, with a sly glance in my direction, "I'll have my cookies later...like around 10:15 or so,". And--because I treasure these heartwarming Mother/Son bonding moments so much and want to prolong them--I wagged a finger at him and warned, "But you can't do that....they'll go straight to your hips!" To which he, without even appearing to have to think about it, which kind of scared me, to be honest--shot back, "Eh...wide birthing hips are a good thing, right?"

Ay yi yi. I slapped my forehead and yelled back, "HELLO...do you need to be reminded already that Y = Penis?" But believe it or not, he was ready for that, too: "Yeah? Well...I'm a seahorse!" he triumphantly proclaimed. Aaannnnd...I gave up. Seriously? What can you do with that? Except, of course, pause to explain it to a puzzled Riley, who hadn't yet been educated about that particular ocean denizen's...gestational...surrogacy...trait. Well...now he's been brought up to speed...so we can consider it a...learning experience? Yeeeaaaahhh, we'll go with that...and maybe after all this nonsense, I need...and/or deserve...to go sneak some of those cookies...shhhhh!

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

A Tale of...Books

For as far back as my memory goes, I’ve always been a passionate bibliophile. (Yeah, I went for the snooty word…so what?) My parents deserve the credit for starting me off right, by providing me with materials and reading to me at a very early age. I'm sure it was because of this that, later on, libraries and bookstores became some of my Happy Places. The towering shelves bursting with rows of tantalizing choices, the unmistakable rich smell of the millions of pages nestled there, and the thrilling opportunity to be allowed to pick up and examine whichever ones you want, in order to walk away with something pleasing. I swear, it NEVER gets old for me…

So, I did the same thing with my kids—sharing old favorites with them, discovering new ones, taking them to story hours as soon as they were old enough to sit still for it, and in the process introducing them to the dual wonderlands known as the Public Library…and Barnes and Noble. (Ha!) Hopefully this has instilled in them a deeply-rooted love of books…that is hearty enough to outlast the strain of their academic years. What I mean is that, with homework and studying and the sheer amount of required text that students must wade through, reading for pleasure becomes almost...an oxymoron

(I speak from personal experience, here--I went from devouring a novel-a-day during my elementary years…to never cracking the binding of a non-school-related  book from High School through Grad School. Soooo sad...but you'll be relieved to hear that once my academic demands were met, I was miraculously cured of the mysterious ailment I'm going to call...Reading Malaise...and it's all good now...)

Anyway, while the Middle School curriculum still demands that Riley formally log a certain amount of time reading a "for-fun book" (I believe it’s 20 minutes per night), Derek has definitely fallen into that murky zone of “The last thing I want to do with my free time is spend it sitting in a chair, deciphering words and sentences and…stuff”. Therefore, Riley will approach me and say, “Hey, Mom, I need a new book. Any suggestions?” 

And Derek…well, at least I am reassured that he peruses his latest copy of ESPN the Magazine cover to cover. I know this for a fact because you can quiz him on ANY stat, or request that he thoroughly analyze or compare randomly-selected players or teams, or ask him to break down current trends in the sporting world…and just sit back and listen to him expound upon one of these subjects for…well, let’s just say “don’t plan on going anywhere for a while”. (Trust me, he can probably continue far past the point that your curiosity’s been satisfied, and you’re quite frankly ready for him to wrap it up…)

Then, last year, he was assigned To Kill a Mockingbird in his English class. Now, somehow I had managed to get this far in my life without having ever read this classic. (Side note: I wonder if it’s because I grew up decades ago, in a very rural…what you would definitely call “non-diverse”…community…and therefore the content was deemed inappropriate? If so, I consider it a tragic failing of the educational system to expose me to this work of literature. So there…) Anyway, as an adult, I had the power to decide that it was high time to remedy this oversight—so I read it along with him…and my goodness, was I ever glad I did. It proved to be a pretty profound experience...while also being a welcome departure from my “usual” type of novel.

About that…in the moments I can steal from my trying-to-keep-everyone-organized-and-running-smoothly…life…when I cozy up with a book to relax I tend to gravitate toward something in the urban fantasy genre. You know: faeries, magic, gods and mythology, angels and demons, and the like. Once in a while I’ll go on a reality binge—I spent a couple of months being amazed by people’s accounts of summiting Mt. Everest or hiking the Appalachian Trail, for example—but mostly…I’m in it to ESCAPE, y’all. But when Derek and I were chatting at the beginning of this term and he told me what he’d be reading throughout the year, I was inspired…to join him.

Okay...first he (unfortunately) had to suffer (literally) through The Scarlet Letter…so I gave myself permission to just SKIP that one. (Didn’t care for it the first time; don’t feel the burning desire to repeat the performance…and also, doing the Grown-Up Happy Dance because no one can make me! Yaaaayyy!) We did have a lot of amusing conversations about such topics as “how freakin’ depressed…and repressed…and judgmental…those Puritans were”. (Our “expert” conclusion: Man, they seriously needed to Lighten. The. Heck. UP!) Finally, that was over, and next, they’ll be moving on to the much more entertaining Mark Twain, with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  He’ll be followed by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, and J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye.

Now…I read all of these…EONS ago. In fact, I recall going through both a Twain phase and a Fitzgerald one, where I read a bunch of non-assigned stuff…just because I liked them. (I know: NERD. And what a huuuuuge surprise, yeah?) But this would be a great opportunity to review the works…and discuss them with my teenager, right? I certainly thought so…which led me to a marvelous shop on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, chock full of used books. We’re talking floor-to-ceiling, here, folks—and as a super-special bonus: two friendly resident felines, available for petting while you browse. A little bit of Paradise on Earth, I tell ya.

Wandering the aisles in rapt delight, I had no difficulty locating Gatsby, but when it came to Twain, I had a momentary…brain lapse, if you will. I could not for the life of me remember which rascal Derek was meant to study: Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn. It didn’t help that I knew he’d read one of them in 8th grade…I suppose I just didn’t file it away properly under “Derek’s Past Reading Lists”. (Just kidding—Heaven knows I have enough junk that I HAVE to keep track of, without trying to store nonsense like that…) So what’s the worst that could happen? Um…I could guess wrong, and have to return to the store for the other one. Pffftt, at four bucks each—and an extra trip to the cool book-emporium-palooza--I’m hardly going to complain. 

I haven’t actually delved into the upcoming 11th-grade novel yet, though; I’m waiting for the class to get on with it, so it will be fresh in my mind when Derek’s going through it as well. (Nope, no comments from the Peanut Gallery. Hey, I heard that!) In the meantime, Riley inquired the other day about where I’d put the stack of used books I’d bought. I replied that they were on my nightstand, and wondered why he wanted to know. “Oh, I finished my last book, and thought I’d try Huck Finn.” (Well…bless your little pea pickin’ heart, sweetie—you just go ahead and have at it.)

Of course, it’s early going, but his preliminary comment was something along the lines of, “The pages are LONG! It’s not an easy read…” After I wholeheartedly agreed with him, he added, in a tentative voice, “And…they use a word to describe black people…you know…the “n-word”. (He actually flinched when he said it...as did I...) Oh, yes, honey, I do know. And if you’re feeling uncomfortable about it, and find it offensive, I’m with you 100%.

At the end of the day, THIS is why I’m so glad to read along with my kids. (Ahem...as long as it’s, you know, interesting—if either of them gets stuck with James Joyce (shudder) or Tolstoy (ugh)…or basically any of those other Hawthorne-like American writers from the 1800s—Herman Melville, I’m talking about you…I'm O-U-T). Because—especially in light of recent events in our country, and the unsettled climate around us right now, it feels important to talk about things like where we’ve come from (the good AND the bad)...and where we think we should be headed, for a better future.

So, I can’t decide if someday the boys are going to look back on this and be incredibly grateful for their…dedicated…ly dorky?...mother—or still be shaking their heads and trying to figure out how they descended from such a...school-obsessed goofball. I have just two words for you, guys: Lifelong. Learner. That’s right, live it, love it, BE it. As for me, if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got some homework…er “light leisure reading” to do!