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 10^th. 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.....

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!

"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!

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!)

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!

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 8^th 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 11^th-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! 

Um, right...that happened. Now what, America?

I almost never write about what you might call..."touchy-feely...stuff", because let's face it, it's gut-wrenching, and difficult, and it's so much easier (and frankly, more fun) to just relate funny anecdotes. But I'm feel an overwhelming need to wrestle my way through this one...both to get it off my chest...and also to put it out there for my sons to read someday. I'm not promising that it'll be a particularly polished post (ooh, sorry about the alliteration--that was unintentional), but I'll do my best to...at least semi-coherently...express what's been swirling around my head the last few days. Here goes:

Cast your mind waaaay back with me (in what we might soon refer to as "the good old days") to the beginning of the 2016 presidential campaign. Remember how it seemed like there were oh, approximately 200 contenders vying for their parties' nomination? Especially on the Republican side--I confess I couldn't even keep them straight...and I'm not really sure I EVER knew all their names, or where they were from, much less what they stood for. But the oddest thing was that one of the wannabes--improbably...ridiculously--was a mega-rich businessman, with no political experience whatsoever (who shall remain nameless...kind of like...Voldemort...). This seemed like a such a joke to us here at Team WestEnders, as we would hear news stories, and shake our heads ruefully at the sheer preposterousness of him even being in the thick of an real-life election.

And then, we watched in bemusement as the field began to narrow, presidential (formerly) hopefuls dropping out inexorably, one by one. Suddenly it wasn't quite as funny anymore when--without all the extra chatter from the other candidates in the mix--the outrageous statements coming out of the mogul's corner garnered more attention. To me, it was still hard to take him seriously, but I found myself concerned that he absolutely always appeared to be royally pissed...or actively yelling...or rudely cutting off someone else who was trying to speak. But when I actually began to listen to the content of his diatribes? That's when I became truly alarmed. The anger, the hatred, the disrespect--not to mention the falsehoods--he spewed virtually every time he opened his mouth were utterly astonishing...and disturbing...to me.

Of course, that's just on the relatively rare occasions in which he was actually able to, you know, formulate a fully-crafted, comprehensible thought. (Yeah...you do NOT wanna get the former speech-pathologist started on how strongly I believe that the leader of our nation needs to be--at a bare minimum--ARTICULATE...) It was at this point that I started struggling to understand what, exactly, people admired in this man. Really, who hadn't he insulted with his comments and his behavior already? I confess I spent an inordinate amount of time with my mouth hanging open, whenever a new piece of offensive information came to light. Women are sex objects. Muslims shouldn't be allowed in the country. And perhaps the most (in)famous: Build a wall. It was almost too much to process.

But all through this nonsense, although the lunacy seemed to escalate on almost a daily basis, I never truly worried....because I firmly believed that there was NO. Freakin'. WAY. he could possibly win. I think my words to the kids were something along the lines of, "Trust me, there is no universe in which that man is voted into the highest office in our government. Not gonna happen." In the end, I trusted, deep down, that people would choose someone with qualifications, and character, and--for the love of Pete--the slightest shred of diplomacy and basic dignity. Don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to canonize Hillary. She's human; she has flaws like any of the rest of us. But I've certainly never seen or heard--in all her years of serving in the public eye--any evidence of her treating people, or talking to people, with the vitriol, discrimination and contempt her opponent showed.

So, even though it looked, inexplicably, bad...because this wasn't supposed to happen, in my "keepin' the faith happy ending scenario"...I went to bed on Election Night before I knew the results. I woke up in the morning, flipped open the laptop, saw the inconceivable (and yes, it DOES mean what I think it means) headline ...and even though I'm someone who never, ever cries..I couldn't stop the.tears from pouring down my face. Not because the candidate that I wanted so badly to prevail, didn't...but rather, because I'm terrified of what might happen--to the whole world, honestly--with that man at the head of one of the most powerful nations on the planet.

I pulled myself together just enough to go say goodbye to Riley before he left for school. As he headed out the door, I gave him the usual hug and "Have a good day, buddy!" (Albeit somewhat more subdued...and watery....than usual, I would imagine...) With a downcast expression, he replied, "Thanks...but it's not off to a very good start, is it?" Now I wanted to start sobbing all over again, but what can you do as a parent? I squeezed him tight, told him it'd be okay, and promised him that we'd talk it over when he got home.

And, bless his school, they took a chunk of time out of the instructional day to discuss everything with the students, both giving them facts and calming any fears they might have. What's funny is, when he arrived back home, considerably more cheerful than when he'd left, it turned out that the very same points his teachers had made, my colleagues and I had come up with during our work hours, to reassure ourselves. (First and foremost being that our brilliant Founding Fathers set up a three-branch system for many reasons, the most important of which in the current climate has to be: preventing the Commander in Chief from going off all half-cocked and doing something potentially destructive...or, let's face it...just plain asinine...)

In a fortunate coincidence, Derek happens to have U.S. History in his schedule this year as his Social Studies offering (I know, right? What perfect timing!) so this whole...situation...provided them the very definition of a "golden opportunity" to converse about a whole slew of related topics, such as the democratic process, civil rights...theoretical consequences of a divisive, emotionally-charged election like this one...etc.

And while we're on the subject of teachable moments, if you will, as we hashed it out at home, what bubbled to the surface for me is what I wanted myself and my children, when all is said and done, to keep uppermost in our minds: regardless of the actions or words of the person in the Oval Office, WE are going to continue to strive at all times for respect....and tolerance...and kindness...and acceptance when interacting with our fellow human beings. We choose to see people of all races, religions, genders, sexual orientations, and walks of life as inherently valuable. We will stand beside--and stand up for--those who suffer discrimination or oppression. (Okay, I realize that came out sounding like some kind of...Team WestEnders Manifesto, or something...sorry about that...doesn't mean it wasn't sincere!)

Whew--I was honestly dreading trying to get that all out...and I must admit that I'm relieved to have done it. Now, to wrap up on a more lighthearted note: the Morning After, Husband attempted to lift the prevailing mood of doom and despair...by being a wise-ass, naturally. He asked at the breakfast table, "So...who wants to move with me to Canada?" Derek cracked up, as expected, which encouraged him to continue, "I hear...Saskatchewan...is just lovely!" (By the way, he's TOTALLY making that up--not that I'm disparaging ANY province in our delightful Neighbor-to-the-North, but I guarantee you he has NO IDEA what he's talking about. In fact, I would wager a great deal of money that he just picked the location whose name pleased him the most!)

I, on the other hand, just stared at him...in befuddlement...for a moment, before marshaling my thoughts to respond, "Are you kidding me? You might recall--as it was only two years ago--how we moved here because MARYLAND was too cold. What makes you think I would ever, in a million years, even consider relocating...closer to the Arctic Circle? (I paused a beat here, for emphasis...or something...) I swear, how long have you known me?" (Yeeeahhhh...that might have been a bit...dramatic. But, as I said, it was a tough morning...)

Besides, I'm obviously not going anywhere, but if I were to do a runner, I'd definitely be taking my disgruntled ex-pat butt and plopping it right the HECK down on some tropical beach...with mango trees (I looooove me some mangos),, and...hmm...plentiful margaritas (no further explanation necessary, I presume)! Heeeeey...maybe I've just figured out my coping strategy (or...personal mantra...or whatever...)for the next four years: Mangos and Margaritas, baby...Countdown to 2020, who's with me?!

Teenage Feeding Frenzy

Back in the Summer, when Derek was striving mightily to accumulate enough supervised behind-the-wheel hours to obtain that elusive Driver’s License, he and his brother hatched a Plan. (And if those aren’t terrifying words to a parent, I don’t know what is…’cuz really, what could possibly go wrong, when two teenage boys put their heads together and start brainstorming? Ay yi yi…) Anyway, they got this idea that--when Derek was officially granted leave to operate a motor vehicle…without an adult sitting in the passenger seat--the two of them would embark together upon a Fast Food Tour…Extravaganza.

You might be puzzled as to the meaning and significance of this idea. You see, Team WestEnders doesn’t dine out at restaurants very often (don’t get me wrong—we LIKE to, but it just doesn’t tend to happen, with activities, busy schedules, school and work demands…and whatnot). And when we do, we’re pretty picky about where we take our business. I’ll be the first to admit that some of this is due to my dietary restrictions, but we also just have certain…standards…about the quality of our cuisine. In essence, we’re more the Chipotle/Panera kind of crowd, rather than your McDonald’s/Popeye’s gang.

However, the kids decided that they were going to go all…rogue fast food…on us, and patronize establishments that, specifically, they’re never allowed to experience with the family. For example…Taco Bell--although when they were negotiating their tentative agenda, Riley frowned and said reluctantly, “Um…we can go, but I’m not sure I’m actually gonna eat anything there.” (Yeah, very wise thinking, dude…your tummy will probably thank you!)

Other options included Cook Out (a burger joint, which Derek swears is decent, rather than junky), Arby’s (only because they find the commercials so hilarious, or as Derek put it, “Well, they DO have ‘the meats’!” Sigh…), and Chik-Fil-A. (Now, I used to feed them lunch there, when they were munchkins and we’d go to the mall on occasion to hang out. But obviously this was long ago…before I became a vegetarian--so I guess they miss it, or something? Who knows…) As much as I shake my head over some of their choices, at least when I asked them if, say, Burger King had made the cut, they vehemently shook their heads and declared, “No way—they’re horrible!” (I have no idea what they’re basing this on, but I’m gratified that they’re retaining at least a shred of their…culinary upbringing. Perhaps there’s hope for them, yet…)

So, with Derek having achieved his Provisional License at last (yay!)—and with the added incentive of having recently been entrusted with their own debit cards (gulp)--the siblings were all set to kick off this grand scheme. And can you guess what lucky contender won the coveted first visit? That would be…Wendy’s. As Riley put it, “Let’s start with one of the…not-so-bad ones.” Then he added, “And, can there be vegetables cut up for me when I get home?” (Yep…that’s my boy…)

Thus it came about that one Sunday afternoon when Riley didn’t happen to have a soccer game, they climbed in Husband’s car and traveled to the closest franchise location, to eat their fill of…processed meat patties, frozen French fries, and fountain sodas. (What? I’m not a fan--can you tell?) They returned safe, satiated…and quite pleased with themselves, I must say.

Flush with their success, Riley was all for making it an every weekend thing…but Derek—believe it or not—squashed his enthusiasm a little bit by pointing out, in a tone of mild irritation, “These meals cost money, you know!” Ha! Get a load of Mr. Fiscal Responsibility, would ya? Suddenly the financial lessons we’ve diligently tried over the years to impart, about spending vs. saving your funds, blah blah blah…seem to sink in more thoroughly when you can monitor your checking account balance…steadily decreasing…every time you swipe that innocent-looking plastic rectangle.

But, not wanting to put the kibosh on their cute brother bonding, I pointed out that they have several helpful items at their disposal to save them some cash: certificates from Chik-Fil-A and Jersey Mike’s, each for one free item off the menu (the former was included in the swag bag from a recent 5k race we ran; the latter was given to Derek by a friend who…just said he wouldn’t use it…for whatever reason. Or…maybe he’s just witnessed how much Derek enjoys eating? Yeah, that sounds about right…). Also, Riley’s godmother, when I regaled her with the story of what they intended to do, asked what his absolute favorite fast food-type eatery was…and presented him with a giftcard for his last birthday. (Oh, it’s Noodles & Co., in case you were wondering.)

Therefore, at least their next several outings will be partially-to-fully-subsidized….and completely clear of parental interference, because with the exception of the noodle joint (and Chik-Fil-A, for Husband), I don’t think either of the WestEnders grown-ups would be caught dead setting foot in any of their shortlisted restaurants. Nope, it’s just: hand over the keys, give them the obligatory “be careful and behave yourselves” speech (that was the entire thing, by the way—it’s pretty much understood by this point)…and perhaps check to see if we have any Pepto Bismol in the medicine cabinet for when they return…just in case… (Unless, of course, they change their minds and let slip that they’re headed to Chipotle, in which case…I call “shotgun”!)

(Not so Chilling) Tales of Halloween

I suppose we can declare that the official Holiday Season has begun, as we just kicked it off with Halloween. But...before we dive into that topic, I just have to say (since I can't help myself): I noticed that a local shopping center adorned their lamp posts with Christmas tree banners...on October 29th. Driving by, spluttering with indignation, I found myself struggling to adequately express how very much this IRKS me...except: seriously, people, would it kill you to wait until November 1st? I believe I speak for most of my fellow humans when I tell you that no one wants to jump ahead while their minds are still occupied by candy, and costumes, and such. And by the way, whatever happened to Thanksgiving? Remember that one? Family, and togetherness, and feasting, and whatnot? Please....One. Holiday. At. A. Time. Thankyouverymuch. (Oh, and while I'm on a cantankerous roll: Hey, you kids...get off my lawn! Nope, just kidding about that last one...thus ends the rant...carry on...)

Anyway, back to the spooky and sweet--I soooo enjoy seeing the photos on social media...artistic pumpkins, clever, cute getups, amazing food creations...it's all super-fun stuff that makes me happy. And I'd like to participate, I really would...but I have teenage sons, now, so our Halloween is somewhat...different. Yes, Husband does still corral the boys to carve the decorative gourds, ostensibly to brighten up the porch and beckon invitingly to trick or treaters--but I suspect his true motivation lies in the fact that he, himself, looooves roasted pumpkin seeds!

Otherwise, while Riley made tentative plans to stroll through the  neighborhood with friends for a while and knock on a few doors, Derek's agenda as he shared it was decidedly more...vague. "Oh, we're gonna get together at someone's house...maybe walk around and look at people's decorations." Hmmm...okaaaayyy, dear. I suffered a brief internal parental dilemma when he told me this. I didn't want him to think I was suspicious of him and his buddies, because they're (thank goodness) not the kind of kids you'd expect to run amok, toilet papering lawns or egging houses or terrorizing small children. So yeah, it sort of goes without saying, but...I'm ME, so I nonetheless still felt it necessary to reply, "No...mischief...right?" Fortunately, Derek isn't easily offended, either, so he just shook his head firmly and answered, "Nah, just hanging out." (My obligatory motherly nagging concluded, I relaxed and wished him a good time...)

When the hour arrived for little (or not so small, as it were) ghosts and goblins to commence ringing the doorbell and begging for sugar, Riley hadn't heard back from his posse as to what they had decided to do. With a downcast expression, he resignedly announced that he would go out by himself for a little bit, since he "didn't want to miss out on the whole thing." Awwww! He was breaking my heart, I tell ya. I offered to drive him around and try to find his pals, but he brushed me off and headed out on his own...a solo Middle Schooler...on a valiant quest for chocolate. (Hey, I can totally respect that!) At least he made a token effort with his outfit: an Orioles shirt and hat, with a baseball glove for that added touch of authenticity. And his evening took a turn for the better when he ran into some classmates and joined up with them, salvaging his mood and saving his trick or treating experience.

And then...there was Derek's merry band of...urchins. (Or, as I like to call them, the Five Stooges...) The gang congregated at one of their houses, where the parents had ordered pizza for them (nice!) in exchange for the guys being in charge of handing out goodies while the grownups took a younger sibling out for the festivities. Sounds reasonable...and simple...right? Suuure...except that they left a bunch of 16-year old...goofballs...manning the fort, as it were. As Derek relayed it to me--with great relish--one of them would answer the door, and offer the hopeful treat-seeker...a tray of vegetables (which his mother had left, to supplement their dinner with something healthy. Yes, it does sound like something I would do...have done....whatever...).

He went on to describe how the kids would stand there, looking confused--at which point the second prankster would jump in and inform them that they could indeed get themselves some sweets...if they answered a trivia question. You see, he happened to be studying for a History exam at the time, and reportedly chose sample test items from his Study Guide. (I know, right: diabolical..ly hilarious!) Finally, when the youngsters were about to give up and leave empty-handed, a third member of the quintet would come to the rescue, skidding around the corner from where he'd been lurking out of sight, and holding out the actual candy bowl.

Oh. My. Goodness. At least they're putting their...ahem..."talents"...to good use? I only wish someone had filmed this whole shebang, because I'm certain it was entertaining. Especially the instance involving a bevy of little girls who, upon having the carrots held out to them, seemed so disappointed that Derek said, "It was like, their faces just fell...they looked sooooo sad!" I can just picture this--the teenage boys probably feared they were about to be faced with something downright horrific, like...TEARS...and they panicked, skipping the pop quiz and calling the Candy Fairy to the rescue, straightaway. (Whew...as far as juvenile hijinks go, I'll take this variety...)

In the end, everyone came away with a few treats, a couple of laughs, and maybe a trick or two. Successful Halloween; check. NOW we can move forward...to Turkey Day. (Or, you know, "Gluten-Free Vegan....Side Dish Day...ha!)