Sunday, January 31, 2016

Wardrobe Malfunction...Teenage Boy Style

I already mentioned that during the...Minor Meteorological Mishap...we experienced last weekend (isn't that what official weather people call such things? Well, they should. Ooh, maybe I'll patent it first, so I can rake in some money on botched predictions! Wait, where was I? Sorry...) I discovered my children's unfortunate lack of appropriate Winter gear.

This motivated me to go ahead and do my semi-regular check of the rest of their wardrobe, to identify items that appeared to be either...overly ragged...or too small. Riley happened to be in his room when I arrived to examine his clothes, and the only thing we jointly singled out was a sweatshirt that had gotten too tight. Derek, however, wasn't around when I ransacked--um "inspected" his apparel...and surreptitiously removed a couple of t-shirts. I might have gotten away with it for a while too--if I hadn't neatly stacked the remaining ones when returning them to his dresser, rather than wadding them up and stuffing them back in like he does when he puts away his laundry. My mistake...

So later that day, he came looking for me in the Bonus Room, where I was just finishing up a workout on the stationary bike. After he had confirmed I was indeed done, he fixed me with a very serious look and began sternly, "We have to talk." (Oh, boy...this doesn't sound good at all. Is he going to warn me about a bad grade he's received? Tell me something he got in trouble for at school? Ask a (gulp) question about...girls? Yikes! Right, he's waiting for me to respond...) "Sure. Go ahead," I said, trying to disguise my trepidation while matching his solemn tone (and bracing myself for the worst--yeah, that would definitely be "female issues", in case you're wondering).

With what could only be deemed an expression of utmost grimness, he inquired, "Did you throw away my Superman shirt?"(OHHHHHHHH! Yeah, who didn't see that coming? Besides me, of course....never mind...) I struggled to conceal my guilty countenance as I muttered, "Not exactly...I put it in the donation bag." He retorted--with an abundance of outraged indignation--"MOM!" But before he could get rolling on the head of steam he was clearly building up for an epic rant, I interrupted firmly, "The logo was cracking and peeling--it was time!"

Apparently, my logic left him entirely unconvinced as he parried, "But that's my favorite shirt!" He whacked the futon for added emphasis, using the wet towel he was still carrying from his recent shower...yet there was an unmistakable telltale twinkle in his eye nonetheless...as though he was thoroughly enjoying this little staged temper tantrum. Carrying on the charade that we were actually arguing heatedly about this, I countered with the irrefutable statement, "Shirts wear out, dude. You can get another one. You'll be FINE."

If I thought that was the last word, though, I was gravely mistaken. He wasn't ready to let it go just yet: "That's my go-to Friday shirt. I spent 10 minutes (a mighty exaggeration, given that he has exactly ONE drawer for tee-shirts) rooting around in the....pile of FOLDED stuff (like that made it ever so much more difficult for him to locate anything...classic Male Reasoning, for ya) and couldn't find it. Now I have to wear...something else." In my head, I'm thinking, in drippingly sarcastic mode, "Oh...the horror." But what I actually conveyed was the much more positive and constructive: "You have a birthday coming up, perhaps you can ask for a new one."

That seemed (temporarily) effective as a distraction tactic, since he brightly commented, "Yeah, I already know which one I want!" Then, as if suddenly remembering he was supposed to be maintaining a facade of righteous anger, he added, "But you have some serious making-up to do for the next 2-1/2 months!" At this point I just couldn't help myself, and I retorted, "Oh, reeeaaally? To repair our very damaged relationship?" He'd worked up some enthusiasm for his topic, evidently, as he agreed,"Yes! A LOT of making up!"

Ay yi yi. I wasn't getting anywhere, so I decided to throw him a bone. I sighed and admitted, "You know, I haven't actually taken it to the thrift store yet. You could walk a couple of feet to the closet in the spare bedroom, pick it out of the bag, and wear it tomorrow." And you know what? The big goofball turned to walk away, clearly having exhausted his ability to continue a mock-tirade in... approximately 3 minutes, He shrugged and threw his parting shot over his shoulder as he exited, "Nah. Too much work."

Aaarrrrrghhh! Trust me, if I'd had anything handy to throw at his retreating back, I would have. On the other hand, I must say: Bravo, son. Very convincing impression of a Teenage Drama Queen. Fortunately, his episodes are much more entertaining than traumatic...and on the plus side, I suppose I know at least one thing he wants for his birthday, now...

Thursday, January 28, 2016

Anatomy of a..."Winter Weather Event"

So, let me 'splain to you how cold-season-precipitation...stuff...goes down, here in the Mid Atlantic's Southern Division. First, we hear the predictions start to filter in, about how our friendly neighbors to the north (no, not Canada...Maryland) are bracing for a significant storm. But it seems like calm, rational reporting quickly deteriorates into heightened panic and a sense of escalating pre-snow-mayhem as the numbers for "total expected accumulation" climb higher. Meanwhile, here in the upper regions of Dixieland...sure, a definite chill could be felt in the air, but the sun was shining, and all appeared well when the kids arrived home from school on Thursday afternoon...that is, right up until we got the email stating that schools would be closed the next day, due to the threat of dangerous conditions...that COULD arrive with the newly-named Winter Storm Jonas. Here's what happened next:

Day 1 (Friday): Okay, for about 5 minutes, NOAA boldly proclaimed that we'd be receiving 4-8 inches of the white, fluffy stuff. Hmmm...this was actually pretty exciting, for these parts. By the time we woke up on Friday morning, however, they'd erased those words as if they never existed, replacing them with the more common (less welcome) advisory about "a wintry mix". They're trying to make it sound, I don't know, more scientific and perhaps picturesque? But in reality this simply means "It will be icy. Stay inside, lest you slip and fall on your butt in a totally undignified--but possibly hilarious for the entire neighborhood--manner. Don't say we didn't warn you." Sigh. Sure enough, the telltale "plink plink plink" on the roof, the windows, and the driveway was a dead giveaway. Stupid sleet!

I'd say we actually got probably about an inch of snow before it began spitting pellets from the sky, so the whole "frozen tableau" was admittedly kind of pretty (from the living room, with a cup of steaming tea, in fuzzy pajamas, mind you...just how I enjoy Winter the most...or, you know, "at all"). The children, of course, were 100% undeterred from venturing out into the...tundra. In fact, Derek left the house at 9 a.m. (I had to do a double-take, to make sure it was really MY SON--out of bed, dressed, and exiting the house at that hour on a vacation day). I didn't see him again until 10:45 that evening, when he finally returned to roost and tell the tale of his adventures. It seems he and his Bus Stop Posse had played several rounds of football during the course of the day, pausing only when they got too wet and cold, to pop into someone's house, toss their sopping outer layers into the dryer, get fed by a mom, watch TV while their clothes tumbled, then repeat the process. That's a full Snow Day O'Fun, I tell ya.

Meanwhile Riley and his 7th-grade buddies took advantage of the slick ground to sled down a hill--used by all of the surrounding youngsters--across the street on a piece of public land. Since he was actually within sight and could come home periodically to check in, I had time to consider something that had heretofore escaped my attention: neither of the boys has in their possession a pair of anything even minutely resembling...boots. That's right, they were out there, in the hypothermia-inducing atmosphere, dressed completely inappropriately for the weather. BAD MOMMY! In my defense...um...well, I kind of...forgot (she mumbles sheepishly, at least having the grace to look thoroughly ashamed of herself). Since Winter tends to be so mild here, and we don't get much of the frozen coating, it seemed silly to buy them footwear they wouldn't use very often. Oops!

Fortunately Riley found a water-resistant, fleece-lined jacket in his closet that he'd inherited from his older brother several years ago, which still fit. (Well...for right this very second only. Once he grows again, forget it). Come to think of it, Derek has a very nice Columbia fleece I purchased for him last year...that he didn't even bother to wear. Yep, the boy left here in a regular old sweatshirt. I GIVE UP. Heck, I had to ask myself if either of them even had a pair of warm pants in their size-seriously, up to now they've been going to school every day in shorts. So, anyway, I was genuinely worried that Riley was going to lose some toes and it would be All. My. Fault. But he cheerfully informed me that when he and his pals got too chilly, they headed into a warm house of their choosing, where yet another Good Samaritan Mom fed them hot chocolate and chicken soup. (Yeah, she definitely wins the Parental Commendation for this instance. I'll get it together and step up next time, I promise! Or...I'll give it the old college try...whatever...)

In between shenanigans, I had LOTS of time to touch base with Facebook and monitor the progress of the Arctic Takeover in my former state. Oh. My. Goodness. The pictures people were posting were dazzlingly beautiful...as Mother Nature on a rampage can undoubtedly be...but I'm not gonna lie, at the same time I was admiring all of the (virtual) snowing and blowing and whatnot, all I could think of was how verrrryyyyyy grateful I was NOT to be there experiencing it in person. I lived through the last 2, aaannnnd I'm done, thank you very much.

Day 2 (Saturday): I know, right? Holy Time Warp, Batman, how can it only be the second day? Well, the kiddos continued with their no-school activities, but I was already feeling a bit stir-crazy. The roads sort of looked okay...ish, so I decided to brave a slow, cautious trek to Target in my trusty snowmobile--um "Subaru". And I, personally, was just fine. However, I was afforded the priceless opportunity to witness a slew of people who should have STAYED HOME. Such as...the little car at a stoplight perpendicular to me, that was unable to turn onto the (2-lane, 45 mph) main road at an intersection, having navigated directly into the piled-up slush left there by a plow. The passenger had gotten out to wave his hands in a mostly futile and ill-advised attempt to let oncoming traffic know he was...being an idiot, apparently...and PUSH the vehicle into the travel path. At which point I clearly saw his license plate...from Florida. Figures, yeah?

Oh, or the Nissan, that stopped at the top of the incline leading out of the Target parking lot, also in a mound of sloppy frozen mush, and then spun his wheels wildly for a couple of minutes, failing to free himself from his predicament. Me? I was behind him on the slope, having purposely halted far enough away to avoid a collision when he gave up and tried to inch his way backwards down the hill. I had plenty of room--and traction--to turn myself around and escape using another path. Honestly, the streets were worse than I expected them to be...but this is North Carolina, not North Dakota, so folks should expect a little delay in the cleanup, and plan accordingly. As in: stock up early, then hunker down and wait it out in the warmth and shelter of your own cozy home. (Yeah, yeah, I know: "except me, of course. " Hey, apart from a little...skittishness...on our steep driveway, prompting the (blessed) anti-lock brakes to briefly engage, I breezed in and out with no problem. And believe me, the fresh air and retail therapy (even if it was just...household supplies...) did wonders for me.

I did have one embarrassing moment, however. Husband absolutely couldn't go out himself in his Hyundai--and he's well aware of this, so what does he do? Why, the reasonable and sane thing: asks his wife to pick up...beer...while she's traipsing around the shopping center. Easy peasy, right? But Target had about one employee working, and, oh, 900 or so customers waiting to check out. Therefore I opted to use the self-scan line...in which you're not permitted to purchase alcohol. Rats! So I was forced to be THAT person...you know the one...who slinks into the GAS STATION to pick up a six-pack. And naturally, I went to the one on the way home, where they know me on sight. (No, not because I do this all the time! From buying gas! And refilling my coffee mug! Jeez Louise!) I felt vaguely seedy...so when I chatted with the clerk during the transaction, I felt compelled to mention that the beverage was for my spouse, not myself. (Memo to Husband: this should explain the odd glance they're going to give you next time you stop by--you're welcome, dear.)

Day...what? Oh, "3": Sunday...yeah, yeah, more of the same. I went out again, to Lowe's, this time, 'cuz really, why wait to buy light bulbs? (Did I mention I don't do well with "Cabin Fever"?) If possible, the roads were even sketchier, having melted and re-frozen into a bumpy, hazard-ridden... lunar landscape. How to best describe it? I know: remember the go-cart-type rides at amusement parks, where you're doing the steering, but there's a metal rail in the middle to prevent you from going off the track? And every time you swerve and make contact, it grabs your wheels and shakes the car? Yeah, THAT. At some point the announcement came that schools would be closed again Monday--having recently experienced the Joy of Bouncing on the local byways, I could understand the reasoning--which worked out rather well, since it allowed the Testosterone Trio to settle onto the sofa for a football fest, and cheer the Panthers on to victory...without having to be sent to bed before the final whistle.

Day 4: Monday? Yeah, that's it. I actually went to my office...although I was the only one who did so. (Gold Star for me....yaaayyyy. In all fairness, the other 6 ladies did log in and work remotely. No worries--I had the Keurig all to myself...) We got a very tentatively-worded email that schools would open on a 3-hour delay...if possible....on Tuesday. (The subtext being a very palpable "Don't hold your breath, though.") In a stunning reversal, temperatures climbed to around 55*, which led to the amusing vision of Husband determinedly attacking the remaining ice on the driveway with a metal shovel...while clad in a light athletic shirt and SHORTS.

That brings us to Day 129 (okay, 5), when we woke up to an amended message informing us that--you guessed it--school would remain closed once more, to allow further thawing of the secondary streets, sidewalks, and parking lots. Eh, what's another free day, right? But I think Riley summed it up best when he exclaimed in mild dismay, "The snow's already mostly gone, we can't go sledding--what are we gonna DO at home?" That's right, honey, the fun's all over, here--better go back to those hallowed halls of academia...or what have you. I knew things were getting back to normal when the mail truck--which we hadn't seen since last Thursday, before all the Winter wackiness--puttered by for its usual run. And speaking of running, the mercury rose all the way to 60, so I laced up my shoes and went puddle-dodging and tiptoeing gingerly on leftover chunks of debris for a lovely late-January slog...I mean "3.5 mile jaunt".

And then, at last, Wednesday dawned with a chorus of angels creating a heavenly symphony that went something along the lines of "Tiiiiiime for Schoooool!" I might have been heard to throw in a few heartfelt "Hallalujahs" myself--just sayin'. The boys--who would never in a million years admit this--may have been a tiny bit relieved to be resuming their routine. I look at it this way: they can't give me a hard time for moving them someplace where you "never have snow or miss school". And if we're lucky, maybe we've gotten our share already, and we'll glide through the rest of the season unscathed. Everyone wins! (Fingers crossed....because let's face it, it's probably too late in the game to find any boots in stores down here, anyway...but there's always next year, yeah?)


Saturday, January 23, 2016

Is There a Job Category for "Goofball"?

So, Derek's a Sophomore this year, and that means...the beginning of Serious Life Planning. Well, that may be a teensy bit dramatic, but at the very least, at this point in your High School campaign you're encouraged to start considering such weighty issues as "Where Do I Want to Attend College?" and of course "What Can I Imagine Doing With My Life?"

Now, I can't speak for anyone else...but here in Casa WestEnders, asking the almost-16-year-old boy to contemplate anything more profound than, say, what he'd like for breakfast is a fairly pointless endeavor. Don't get me wrong--he has a "Dream Job" in mind, all right....but exactly how he's going to travel from Point A (Chapel Hill High School) to Point B (ESPN anchor or, if that proves unrealistic, Sports Journalist) remains a complete mystery.

Husband and I have attempted to engage him on these topics periodically--for example, sharing our own experiences related to narrowing down the vast pool of available colleges and universities out there. We'll pose hypothetical questions such as "Would you prefer a large or small school? Is an urban or rural setting more appealing to you?" (Then of course, there's the unspoken yet ever-so-important subtext: "Where can I get admitted?" and "How much are my parents willing to shell out for my 4 years of pursuing higher education?" Ha!)

While Derek does seem to be listening when his parents reminisce--I mean "impart valuable information" on the subject--when directly queried as to his own ideas regarding college or professions he kind of...shrugs helplessly....and says "Um...I don't know!" with just the barest detectable hint of burgeoning panic in his voice. But wait! Have no fear...it's the Guidance Department to the rescue of clueless young men and women everywhere! First, though, the 10th-graders had to complete the ACT Plan Test--as far as I can understand it, a "warm-up version" for the purposes of practice, pinpointing strengths and weaknesses...and whatnot.

As relayed to me by Derek, you do some initial questionnaire-type-stuff, complete the exam, get your scores back, and use all of the data to help prepare for the actual ACT next year, and also to identify areas of potential interest for study in the future. So, he brought all of this home to show me, and all the numbers looked fine--he's theoretically on-track for success at the college level of learning, blah blah blah. What was more intriguing, though, was his highlighted "Career Area List" which included such scintillating choices as Engineering, Natural Science (e.g. Physicist, Statistician), Medical Technologies (e.g. Pharmacist, Optician), Medical Treatment, Social Science (e.g. Economist, Sociologist), and Applied Visual Arts (e.g. Photographer, Interior Designer).

Hmmm....I'll admit that some of these sound vaguely plausible for my son...and others are just Way. The. Heck. Off-Base. But you know, it's a High School fill-in-the-bubbles kind of survey, so take it with a big old grain of salt and all that. However, Derek actually had the last laugh on this one. He and his friends were reportedly "goofing around" on the computers after they got their results, and Derek stumbled onto what he enthusiastically proclaimed to be "The Perfect Career"! I waited in breathless anticipation for him to enlighten me (or whatever) and I was not to be disappointed, as he triumphantly declared, "Marine Architect"! He paused for just exactly the right amount of suspenseful delay, then added, "Because really, who WOULDN'T want to....BUILD HOUSES FOR FISH?!"

Oh. Good. Grief. Okay, that's it, I'm washing my hands of him and his ridiculous...ness. Yeah, good luck with that, you poor, poor Guidance Counselor. And I'll be ready for your call...sigh....


Wednesday, January 20, 2016

I love it when a plan (eventually) comes together...

When all of the festive holiday hoopla dies down...and everyone returns to the predictable rhythm of their school/work routines (regardless of the amount of reluctant foot-dragging or whining involved--nope, I'm NOT talking about the kids)...and the actual shivery portion of the Winter settles over us...it can only mean one thing: time to plan Team WestEnders' Summer...Whatever!

This year I thought we at least had already established a starting point for research purposes. (Ha! Silly, silly me...) It was, after all, our "Domestic Excursion" turn in the rotation, following last July's Costa Rican adventure. And right there, on my handy-dandy Places to Go List, (because yes, of COURSE I have one of these...doesn't everyone?) written neatly in bold black ink for everyone to see, it clearly said "2016: Alaskan Cruise". Simple, yeah? Hooowwwever...when I presented this confidently to the Breakfast Table Crew one morning, it did NOT meet with the overwhelming enthusiasm I expected. Long story short, the biggest objection was posed by Husband, who suddenly, out-of-the-blue, voiced the opinion that he'd be perfectly willing to do this....just as long as we wait for his mother to be able to come with us. (Ohhh-kaaaay...note to self: postponed...indefinitely.)

Moving right along, the next option for inside-the-U.S. was an obvious choice--the Grand Canyon. BUT...Husband (again with the monkey wrench...I swear I'm gonna have to start over-ruling him, or we'll never go anywhere...) insists that when we visit, we must hike all the way down to the Colorado River, and stay overnight before trekking back up to the rim. Well, ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you that there is precisely ONE lodge on the canyon floor...and they take reservations...and fill them up...13-months in advance. So while I dutifully (hopelessly) submitted the online form requesting a room, the message I got back was basically, "What, are you kidding with this? Nice try, lady...contact us again in June...for next year." Soooo....stamp a big, fat "no way in Hades" on Plan B.

They say "3rd time's the charm", right? But hold on...I didn't actually have another alternative on the tip of my tongue, ready to throw out there to the wolves--um "family".  Thus we did what all great thinkers do in this situation....we brainstormed. Well, mostly the boys chewed their food and did their best to appear engaged, while Husband and I attempted to come up with a trip that we could actually make happen, you know, THIS Summer. Finally--and I couldn't honestly tell you where it came from, so let's call it Divine Inspiration and leave it at that--Seattle popped into my head.

I mean, it has cool stuff we've all already heard of, like the Space Needle and Pike Place Market. The area's supposed to be gorgeous, with evergreen and redwood forests, and Puget Sound, and whatnot. (So you can commune with the trees...AND take a whale-watching boat tour...sweet!) Not too far away, there's an awesome hiking opportunity in the form of Mt. Rainier. And as if that weren't enough, they have a baseball stadium that we're NEVER going to get to, unless we actually visit the city. Really, once we started talking about it, everybody jumped on board pretty quickly. But what absolutely sealed the deal for us, personally, is that when I checked the Mariners' schedule, they're at home on the weekend closest to July 4th...and they're playing...the Orioles. Oh. My. Gosh. Is that a sign, or WHAT?

So I used my time wisely over the extended MLK Jr. weekend, and booked our flights...hotel...and rental car. (Brushing hands together briskly in a satisfied manner...) Now that the major logistics are squared away, for the rest of the frigid season (such as it is, in NC anyway) we can do some more investigation into the "fun details" and figure out exactly how we'd like to spend our days exploring. Incidentally, this should be ridiculously easy, since every time I mention our new vacation scheme to someone, they've A) Been there; B) Loved it and C) Have multiple suggestions for things we should see and do. (Thanks, very helpful Peanut Gallery!) So...yaaayyy! Only 5-ish months to go....


Saturday, January 16, 2016

Boy, Oh (Pre-Teen) Boy

Well, the teenager had his exploits translated to print last week, so I suppose it's only fair that the tween gets his turn. After all, you can pretty much always count on a good Riley story...

So, I went into his room (I can't remember the reason--fortunately it's not relevant) and was sidetracked by the cutest little crocheted stuffed owl on his dresser. I was certain I hadn't seen it before, so I instantly abandoned whatever I had been going to discuss/ask/whatever and instead veered over to pick it up and admire it. "Ooh, this is adorable! Did you make it?" He nonchalantly replied, "Nah...my friend gave it to me."

Now, it's not like I just gave birth yesterday, so my finely-tuned Mom Radar automatically honed in on the elusive nature of his response. "My friend" sounded just a weeee bit too...vague...not to be suspicious. Therefore, I was ALL over that sucker: "Oh? Which friend?" He named a female classmate somewhat familiar to be because, "Hmm, she's the one who wasn't able to go to the Holiday Dance with you, right?" (Seriously, the kid should give it up and realize he has absolutely no chance--by this point in the game I'm like some kind of...Master Interrogator...eh, or maybe I've simply been watching too many episodes of Castle...or something...)

Anyway, by the fact that his cheeks immediately turned about 14 (quite precious) shades of crimson, I totally knew what was going on, but I played it super-cool (repressing the urge to cackle with glee-- really, it was ever-so-admirable, if I do say so myself) and allowed him to reveal things in his own way. "Well, Mom...I need to tell you something." I waited patiently, wearing what I hoped was a mildly curious, appropriately interested expression. He continued, "Um...we've kind of been dating...for a while."

"AHA!" I shouted triumphantly, "I knew you were hiding a secret!" Of course I'm kidding--in reality I nodded calmly and murmured something along the lines of, "That's nice, dear," before tactfully letting the subject drop. However, I'm not sure how much stock to put in this...um..."relationship" because earlier this week I casually brought it up again when I asked, "So, does your school do an event for Valentine's Day?" He shrugged in a non-committal manner, "Yeah, I think so. I seem to remember one last year." Since he didn't seem inclined to provide any more information, I pressed, "So, are you going to invite [the young lady] to go?" He looked at me slightly askance, as if the question were a bit...silly...and answered matter-of-factly, "I don't know if we'll be going out for that long."

WELL! Who would've guessed there was some kind of...expiration date...on 7th-grade romances? I sputtered in part surprise, part indignation, "Riley! That's not a very good attitude!" He quickly backtracked and clarified, "It's not that I want to break up...you just never know what's gonna happen." Sheesh. So young...so pragmatic...such a MALE, yeah? Perhaps this is my clue that we're overdue for one of those very special "Helpful Tips for Dealing with Girls" chats. Yeah...I'll get right on that...

Speaking of which, on a recent school night he came wandering through the house, clearly searching for something. When I politely inquired as to whether I could be of assistance, he asked, "Where's Dad?" I told him that my best guess would be that he was in his office, working. He absorbed this and appeared to be thinking as he mused, "Oh...'cuz I need to talk to him...about...something." Waving my hands dramatically, I pointed out, "Hellloooo! I'm available!"

He shook his head slowly and grimaced just a tad as he replied, "Welllll...it would be awkward to talk to you in this case. It's health stuff." Ahhhhhh. I nodded sagely, "Boy stuff, huh?" It was hilarious how he appeared to be soooo relieved that I'd caught on without him having to, you know, spell it out for me. He hastened to assure me, "Yeah, if I need to talk about girls, I'll come to you. but for this, I think it would be better to talk to Dad."

Oh, let me put you at ease, son, in case you were worried that I'd be offended, or my feelings would be bruised by your need to share...um...potentially sensitive puberty-related topics...with your father. I. Do. NOT. Mind. In fact, feel free to take any and ALL embarrassing, challenging, or confusing Y-Chromosome conversations straight to Dad. But if you need suggestions for a nice girlfriend gift? Or maybe some help figuring out why she's upset with you? Or guidance in navigating the treacherous waters known as "the female posse?" For these and other...emotional dilemmas...I'm your go-to parent.

In the meantime, though, I'll be over here in the corner with my fingers in my ears loudly chanting "la la la" so I don't accidentally overhear whatever the Guy Issue might be. Maybe with a nice, girly cup of tea...and a shopping website...pay no attention to me!


Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Boy, Oh (Teenage) Boy

Every once in a while, Derek will exhibit signs of what he readily refers to as a "mood". Now, this may strike fear into the heart of any parent who's ever dealt with an adolescent...but before you panic, remember, he's a BOY. Therefore, his particular version of teenage angst is verrry different than the drama that, say...I might have perpetrated as a frequently emotional...sometimes hormonal...occasionally downright irrational...high school chick. To illustrate what I'm talking about, this is how one such episode played out yesterday:

We're driving home after completing an errand, when Derek spots a man walking his dog. He comments critically,"Jeez, it's 40 degrees, does he really need long pants and a Winter coat?"
I reply, "Well, maybe not the parka, but people DO cover their legs when it's this chilly, dear."
After a short pause, he muses, "Yeah...today Coach told me I should wear pants."

Now, filling in the blanks--because I do, in fact, speak fluent Teenage Guy Dialect (as much as that's even possible, anyway)--I inferred that he passed the Varsity Soccer Coach, standing outside his classroom and monitoring the...hallway mayhem. I feel I must note, here, that I personally have never EVER witnessed this man attired in anything but...cargo shorts and an athletic t-shirt (or polo, if he's being all fancy and whatnot). However, Derek assured me that, in deference to the temperature, on this day he had chosen jeans...and a Philadelphia Flyers jersey.

Curious, I asked Derek if many of the kids in his school tended to wear shorts at this time of year. He gave it about a second's deliberation, then responded, "No, mostly they wear pants if it's under 50 degrees." Aha! You see, this is NORMAL behavior, my polar bear son. After all, the mercury (or, you know, "digital readout") showed a balmy 25 this morning when you walked to the bus stop. Yet even in the face of this overwhelming scientific evidence...that he should protect his bare legs from, say, the very real threat of frostbite, for crying out loud...he still protested vigorously, "According to the weather app, the 'Real Feel' was 28!"

He delivered this news triumphantly, as though he expected it to end the argument in its tracks, with him being the clear victor. He didn't count on me standing there, head cocked, staring at him as if he had sprouted a 5th limb, confusion written all over my face. So he started to repeat his fascinating little piece of data, like the problem was that I didn't understand it the first time...rather than thinking he was being completely ridiculous. But I cut him off, "You're aware that that means it's below freezing, right?"

Now it was his turn to look perplexed, "No, it's not." Au contraire, my son--32 marks the point at which water turns to ice, ergo anything less than that is, well, "below freezing". His gaze turned mutinous as he continued to seek ways to defy this logic...and in another moment he snapped, "I'm gonna ask Dad!" while turning on his heel and stalking into the house. Don't get me wrong--I'm sure this changes nothing, and tomorrow he'll show up for breakfast in a sweatshirt and shorts, no matter what the thermometer tells us. But at least he knows the truth...for whatever it's worth.

Then there was the second incident, centering around the arrival of an Amazon order...
D (mildly intrigued): "What's in the box?"
Me (off-handedly): "Just some lotion."
D (jokingly): "Ooh, can I have some?"
Me: "Nah...you wouldn't want it; it's girl stuff."
D (nosing through the package): "What else?"
Me (only half paying attention): "Nothing."
He reaches in and pulls out another item that I'd missed, tucked into the corner of the carton.
D (in mock indignation): "Mom, for this relationship to work, you can't lie to me!"
Me (choosing to ignore the tone): "Oh, right, I forgot I ordered toothbrush covers."
D (shaking his head dismissively): "All I'm hearing, here, is a bunch of excuses."
Me (with very genuine exasperation): "ALL RIGHT, GO AWAY NOW, YOU OBNOXIOUS TEENAGER!"

Siiiighhhh. Life with Derek: usually amusing...occasionally annoying...seldom dull. And yes, I DO try to thank my lucky stars as often as possible that I was dealt Y-chromosome children. After all, how else would I be able to disappear behind a closed door for some peace and quiet once in a while, and use the excuse "Leave me alone...I need some girl time..."? (And maybe an adult beverage, come to think of it...)

Monday, January 11, 2016

Genetics...Lite

Today’s theme is “apples..and trees…and the expectation that there will only be only a short distance between them when the fruit drops off”. (Also, “the deliberate mangling of traditional adages for my own amusement”. Just because I can…)

First up: Derek. Yesterday's plan included the boys and me attending church. However, Riley confessed that he had a sore throat and a stuffy head, which sounded suspiciously like the beginning brewing of a cold. I decided to err on the side of caution and not take him to a crowded place where he could “share” his potentially contagious germies with the congregation. I figured God would understand—possibly even applaud--and give us a pass on this one. When I informed Derek of the…agenda cancellation…his reaction was not at all what I anticipated. His eyes grew wide and he stared at me with an expression akin to…I can only say “horror”. Taken aback, I asked him what was wrong. He replied in an aggrieved tone, “But Mom…I need to GET OUT of the house!”

Oh. My. Goodness…is this my kid, or WHAT? Now, I grant you that most of the time he’s the epitome of his father’s child: laid-back, zero-drama, go-with-the-flow. But occasionally he lets fly with some sort of...mini-outburst...and I can tell that I’ve influenced his personality in at least a minor way. (For better or worse!) What makes this even funnier is that, since he began working from home 18 months ago, Husband regularly will admit in bemusement that he hasn’t left our neighborhood for days on end—unless it’s to drive Derek to soccer practice, that is. The first time he inserted this little tidbit into conversation I reacted with utter shock. “How is that even possible?” I gasped, adding “Sometimes I make up stuff to do…just to have someplace to go!”

So, yeah, Derek was clearly feeling a smidgen of cabin-fever, and needed an airing, somewhere outside of his own 4 walls. “Well, you could come with me on my errand,” I offered tentatively. He glanced at me cautiously and replied, “Oh-kaaay…what is it?” Fairly sure this wouldn’t be appealing to him in the slightest, I nevertheless explained, “I have to go to the furniture store, test out chairs, and pick one for the guest bedroom/office.” So, just how bored and/or desperate WAS he? He accepted the mission immediately, and we agreed upon a time to storm the castle—um “Rooms 2 Go”.

And guess what? It ended up being a very companionable mother/son shopping trip. (Yes, I realize those words don't seem like they should be strung together in the same sentence...but it turns out that oxymorons do sometimes occur in nature..albeit verrrry rarely. Who knew?) Anyway, we chatted…we planted ourselves in a whole bunch of potential armchairs…we judged them unmercifully. (Hey, I spend hours composing…er, "creative masterpieces"…such as this one. Therefore I need my…throne…to embody that most beneficial of balanced combinations—both supportive AND comfortable. What can I say? I have a sensitive…tushie….or what have you…) 

Heck, Derek even got immersed enough in the process to seriously discuss the relative merits of “arms” vs “armless”, and to mime the position I would be in with my computer on my lap, to determine whether it felt like it would work for me. (Yeah, it was adorable. He was like my own Design Team…of one…) In the end we were able to select a reasonably priced, acceptably attractive, sufficiently cozy small recliner for the corner of the room in question. Derek got his field trip, I got my seat (pending delivery, of course)--that's what I'd call successful goal-completion all around!

Next: a small Riley incident. He came downstairs to say goodnight yesterday, and flopped himself on the sofa to catch a few moments of TV. I happened to be enjoying NCIS: LA. (The show I’m currently binge-watching since they started playing it in syndication on Esquire Network. It’s a total guilty pleasure…and I'm totally okay with that....) After only about a second of viewing the screen, his face took on a thoughtful cast and he slowly said, “Hmm…that looks like Pelant.” Now, I’m sure this makes no sense to most people, but I understood him perfectly: Pelant was the name of a sociopathic serial-killer who appeared on several episodes of Bones a few years ago. I turned to him in astonishment and sputtered, “Yeah, it’s the same actor. But how did you know that?” He casually stated, “Last Summer Derek and I found out that Bones is always on at lunchtime…so we’d watch it while we ate.

Okay, probably NOT the guy I’d most want to stick in Riley’s memory, but he comes by this...talent?... naturally. You see, for years I’ve been regaling Husband with my own…um…Television Character Savantism. (It’s better if I give it an official-sounding title, instead of just calling it a "weird brain glitch", right?) I mean, I’ll see an actor whose face is familiar and—although it might take me a while—eventually I’ll be able to place where I’ve seen them before. A typical conversation might go something like this:
Me: “You know the girl who played a Crossroads Demon in the third season of Supernatural? Well, she was on Castle this week.”
Husband: (Complete silence and uncomprehending expression)
Me: (encouragingly) “You remember, when Dean was trying to save someone’s soul from being dragged off into Hell, so he tricked the demon and forced her to negate the contract? That lady.
Husband (shaking his head in a manner that suggests he’s more…disturbed…than impressed) “That’s really quite a…freaky ability you’ve got, there.


This happens to me All. The. Time…which suggests that A) I may watch more television than is strictly necessary and B) It would be sooo much more helpful if I could recall other, more useful bits of trivia—such as “we’re out of milk” or “time to make the kids’ dentist appointments”. But hey, you can’t have everything, right?

So there you have it, a not-necessarily-typical Sunday with Team WestEnders. And now, since I've already had my own "opportunity to interact with the big, wide world" today, I think I'll go settle into the couch...and see if I can find some NCIS: LA. Who knows, maybe one of the guest-stars will be that guy, from that other thing, you know what I'm talking about...don't you?

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Refrigerator Follies

A long time ago, (in a galaxy far, far away--no, no, that's not it...sorry...) I was with a group of friends when we experienced some kind of...technical difficulty. I can't even recall the specifics, except that it was something totally minor that should have been quickly and easily figured out. Yet the entire group--well-educated, intelligent adults--could not for the life of us resolve the dilemma. It was at this point that someone (it might have been Husband, in fact) chuckled and asked the million dollar question: "How many degrees does it take to...[whatever the heck was causing us issues]?" Well, that became an instant catch-phrase for our jovial little gang, and to this day, we still use it at Casa WestEnders.

I'm taking the time to explain this because I just encountered a situation at my workplace, where it came in verrrrrry handy. You see, we have one of those fancy-schmancy refrigerators that provides you filtered water with the press of a button from the front door dispenser. After I'd been at the company a short time, I noticed that the warning light had come on, helpfully informing me that it was time to order a replacement filter. So I did the responsible thing: checked the manual for the appropriate part number...then ignored their advice to call them directly for the item, found it on Amazon for less than half the price, and ordered it.

When the shipment arrived, I tucked it away for safekeeping, until the second light alerted me that the moment had arrived to switch out the filters. I located the compartment--inside the fridge, near the back wall, below the freezer--opened it, and removed the old unit. So far, so good. However, when I tried to install the new one, it didn't seem to fit quite right...and absolutely no agua flowed through it, whatsoever. Even more alarming, when I next attempted to take it back out and start the process over, the housing seemed to be jammed. Super-duper--I'd only been employed there for about 6 weeks...and I'd apparently managed to break the fridge...gulp.

After struggling valiantly with it for a while, I gave up and confessed to a co-worker what was happening. She was sympathetic and understanding, followed me to the kitchen...and opened the damn thing in an instant. What the WHAT? Okay, that's great, but the filter itself still didn't seem to want to cooperate, despite our combined best efforts, so I called Maytag and was cheerfully given this spiel, "Oh, right, the part listed in the manual isn't used anymore. You need 'blah blah blah' instead!" Well, isn't that just...peachy? So I ordered the stupid correct part (for lots more money, incidentally), made a note in the stinkin' manual, and waited for the delivery.

In the meantime, I re-closed the compartment, so it wouldn't be hanging open or dripping onto the shelves. Yeah, you know what's coming, right? Uh-huh: no matter how hard I pushed that obnoxious plastic button, it just Would. Not. Release. So I did the mature thing....and ignored it until absolutely necessary. Then the box came, and with it the Day of Reckoning. Nope, still couldn't...wrestle...the holder open, even with all the brute force I could muster. I had no choice but to bring in reinforcements, in the form of two other ladies from the office. We all gave it the old college try, but in the end were forced, albeit grudgingly, to admit defeat.

Now there seemed to be only one option remaining to us--enlist a professional to get the job done. At this point, we were afraid we'd broken the part, and it would need to be mended or replaced. Thus I scheduled a visit with a local appliance repair service, for them to take a look at it. The very polite and friendly man showed up at the appointed hour, opened the refrigerator door...and popped the canister Right. The. Hell. Open. I stood there gaping at him for a second before gathering my wits enough to demand, (through gritted teeth, which wasn't easy, let me tell ya) "How did you DO that?"

Aaaannnd for the moment of truth: he demonstrated for me the mystical secret that had been eluding us, as he placed his right index finger gently on the tab...and PULLED, rather than pushed. Are. You. Freakin'. Kidding. Me? Yes, folks, it was just that simple. And 100% non-intuitive, if you ask me. (Bless him--the repairman assured me that he agreed it was "poorly designed". I think he was humoring me, but I appreciated it anyway.)

I swear it was like some kind of...twisted psych experiment, but I did learn something valuable: human beings, when faced with a lever, tend to want to shove it away, rather than tug it toward them. TAKE NOTE, MAYTAG! You're working against people's instincts, here! Or maybe...this is just some sinister plot to get your $95 charge for the guy to come out and spend approximately 3 milliseconds "fixing" our fridge? Well, I'm onto you--I wrote the correct filter number, and the complete instructions for replacing it, both in the manual AND in an email that I sent to everyone. So there! You'll never fool us again.

Oh, and the answer to the original query: 6 total degrees, including 2 Masters' and a PhD, were unable to bring a successful conclusion to...the Refrigerator Conundrum. Siiiiighhhhhhh....but hey, at least we're well hydrated, now....

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Finishing up with a Bang

During our crazy-busy, run-around-like-spastic-people visits to Maryland, we here at Team WestEnders try our best to always reserve one day to spend in the old hometown of Olney. (Well, technically neither Husband nor I actually grew up there, but it's ours kids' birthplace, and it's where the family moved from, so...anyway, you get the picture...) And I don't know what kind of entities we should be making tributes to, but the last couple of times we've headed North, the stars have been in our favor, the planets have aligned, the Travel Gods have smiled upon us benevolently...and almost everyone we've wanted to touch base with has been in town and available to get together with us. (Yaaaaaayyyyy!)

Mind you, I certainly don't mean to imply that the whole social affair is...uncomplicated. First there's e-mailing, (establishing initial parameters--which day we'll be blowing into the area) then negotiating, (would you prefer the coffee, lunch, or dinner slot?) and finally discussing (pick a cafe or eatery at which to meet) in order to map out a tentative agenda.

This time, for example, it worked out for me to reunite with a couple of my fellow Playgroup Moms (who I met and started hanging out with when Derek was but a wee baby...if you can even imagine that...) in the morning at Panera. It was a great idea--the only thing I forgot to anticipate was the whining from the Male Posse when I informed them we'd be leaving HQ at 9:15 in order to make our 10:00 date. I believe this just about sums up the collective response: "Whaaat? Whyyyy? But it's soooo earrrrrly!" Yeaaaaah...the one teensy tiny little flaw to the otherwise airtight, rock-solid scheme was that, since we had only one car, everyone kind of had to be dragged along, even when it wasn't really "their gig", per se.

But I bribed them with hot chocolate, and they did a bit of wandering around outside while I chatted, and they survived just fine. Meanwhile I had a delightful chance to catch up with a very special breed of female friend--one you shouldn't trade for anything: I'm talking about those women that helped you through the sometimes scary and difficult first stages of motherhood... observed you at your tired, cranky, disorganized, disheveled worst...and stuck around anyway. Let me tell you, those types of bonds are more precious than gold, y'all.

Before I knew it, though, my second "appointment" arrived for lunch. (Didn't I mention it was a bit of a whirlwind? Try to keep up...) Two college girlfriends, Chipotle, and a whole lotta chatter. (And whoo, boy, you wanna talk about "people who knew you when"? Or maybe it'd be better for all concerned if we just...didn't. What happened on campus, stays on campus. Eh, the Statute of Limitations has loooong expired, anyway...) Several more hours flew by while we laughed and reminisced and caught up on each others' lives.

Meanwhile, the boys texted me that they'd taken themselves to "Cinco Dudes" for their meal (Right...that would be the establishment known as "Five Guys"...in silly-Husband-speak). Then Derek actually had arranged to meet two of his Middle School buddies at a local park so they could shoot some hoops and...oh, I don't know, jaw about teenage guy stuff, I guess. I walked over after my ladies had to depart, and while we were all there, several of the kids who lived down the street from us in our old house showed up. They were extremely perplexed to see Riley, at first, but after we cleared up the situation, much running around and wrestling and...young boy shenanigans...ensued.

At this point the sun was going down, and the temperature was dropping, but we still had some time to kill before our next engagement. Now, Olney is lovely, but it doesn't have what you'd call...hmm..."a thriving retail environment". So we wandered around Homegoods for a while--Husband amusing himself by locating and pointing out the most hideous lamps ever produced, the sons evaluating furniture, in order to flop themselves tiredly on the chairs they deemed cushiest. Then we did a quick tour of Roots Market....which was appealing on two counts: they have restrooms....and usually offer a nice selection of free samples to enjoy while you browse the aisles.

At last, having effectively window-shopped for just long enough, we moved on to our final stop of the day: California Tortilla with soccer pals (including both parents and teammates). So, picture five boys (three 10th-graders, two 12-year olds), one quiet younger sister, and eight adults...yep, it was a lively, animated...LOUD conversation and dining experience, I assure you. Mostly, though, it was awesome, that our former tribe came out to see us, and that we still have such a blast together even though we moved away 18-months ago.

After that, our merry...exhausted....little band was ready to drive back to our home base for some much needed, well-deserved SLEEP. Because we'd be getting up and doing it all over again the next day! Just kidding...we actually only had a coffee date with some of my interpreting compadres, before returning to the South. This time I'd picked an actual shopping center for our rendezvous, so at least the guys could pillage...Target....and Dick's Sporting Goods....while I gabbed with the girls. When Husband got antsy about hitting the highway (before we were forced to feed the bottomless pits--um "adolescent sons"--again, we said our farewells and braced ourselves to challenge that most fearsome of opponents: Interstate 95 ("from Hell"...that might not be the official title you see on maps, or what have you, but it definitely should be...)

And I've gotta tell ya--I won't even venture a guess to try and explain it, as there's no rhyme or reason to the traffic on that particular road--our return trip to North Carolina was pretty much the polar opposite of Wednesday's debacle. It went smoothly. It was fairly speedy. There was seldom any cause for delay. Heck, the SUN was even shining. I'm not inspecting any gift equines' molars, or nothin', I'm just saying. However, it did make me wonder...did Maryland wish us gone that desperately? Or did Chapel Hill just really want us back? I guess they both win, because we're home, safe and sound, and quite ready for a nice, long recovery. Wait, we have to go back to school and work.....WHEN? Ay yi yi. In that case, thank you, Mid-Atlantic, and goodnight!

Friday, January 1, 2016

Starting the Year Off Right

Happy New Year, everyone, and welcome to 2016. Okay, whew! I'm afraid that's all I have the energy to say, so goodbye. Just kidding! Well, sort of...'cuz last night's shindig was a humdinger, I tell ya. (Wait, do people still use that word? I mean, you know, "folks younger than the rocking chair set?" Eh, I'm just gonna go with it...)

Fortunately, Team WestEnders was situated at the location of the festivities, so we had a relatively quiet day...alternating periods of restful relaxation and sociable chatting with our host family (hmm... that makes us sound like participants in an Exchange Program...which I suppose we technically could be...if you count "the South" as a foreign land)...with frantic bursts of cleaning and cooking and general party preparation.

At last all was ready for the invading hordes--um "distinguished guests"....oh, hold on, these are OUR friends I'm talking about...so let's just say "invitees" and leave it at that. And boy oh boy, they came en masse. There were kids of all sizes--and their parents, of course--and enough food to satisfy a small army (which we kind of were, at that point) and free-flowing beverages all around. (Yep, I was hitting that Diet Dr. Pepper pretty hard, in case you're wondering...I sure do know how to live it up, don't I?) With the Orange and Cotton Bowls on as background noise and dozens of conversations going on in multiple rooms, the decibel level approached...well, "deafening" seems pretty darn accurate.

And for the first time in...I honestly can't remember how long...there was a packed living-room-full of revelers young and old...er...clustered around the TV waiting for the famed ball to drop in Times Square. Now, the adults were calmly, with dignity and decorum (Ha! Mostly our understated behavior by this time was due to increasing exhaustion and the glorious sweet promise of impending BEDTIME. But whatever...) watching the screen for the cue to welcome in the new year and share well-wishes with the crowd.

However, the youngsters...began shouting along with the countdown at 59-seconds, at the top of their collective, enthusiastic lungs. I doubt it was any louder in NYC, quite frankly. But the important thing was, my boys and I were blessed to be able to greet 2016 surrounded by an awesome group of pals. And as a super-bonus, a little while later we got to stumble downstairs (when the caffeine and cookies wore off...leading to the very first sugar crash of January...) and sleep off the effects of a 7-hour mega-bash, without having to drive anywhere.

We all appreciated this particular perk--"maximizing precious pillow time"--even more, a few short hours later on 1/1/16 when we blearily cracked open our eyes to get started on the next round of social-butterflying. After a brief breakfast (which for me consisted of "filling the largest mug in the house to the brim with the Nectar of Life...um, "coffee") we headed out to my dad's house, for an Extended Enders gathering. In this case we got to spend quality time with aunts, uncles, and cousins that we don't have the chance to see very often. The grown-ups enjoyed their conversation, while the 7 kids (ages ranging from 7 to 15) ran amok in the yard, competing in spirited-but-friendly games of football, soccer, and basketball.

Eventually we needed to return to HQ and regroup once more. We took advantage of the opportunity to graze on post-fiesta leftovers--thereby adhering to several well-known Holiday Truths, such as "there's no such thing as 'too much chips and salsa'"; "treats consumed between Thanksgiving and whenever-Winter Break-ends have FAR fewer calories than usual"; and "the virtue of choosing a serving of raw veggies in the face of all the other tempting options totally cancels out that ginormous slice of cake you scarfed down immediately afterwards". (Or I could be making s...tuff....up. I'm okay with that...) Then there's more college football (for the ones who actually care at all about that nonsense, anyway) and copious amounts of lounging on the schedule for this evening.

Because tomorrow (whatever the heck day it is, I've lost track by now), we get our butts in gear fairly early, for a loaded day of frolicking in the old hometown of Olney. Yeah, I think I'd better go complete my nighttime routine, before the adrenaline runs out and I fall down wherever I happen to be sitting (or standing, Heaven forbid) at the moment. And so, ta ta for now...