Monday, January 30, 2017

Can I Have Another Weekend, Please?

Sometimes in the midst of a particularly action-packed, activity-laden stretch of days like Team WestEnders just experienced, I daydream about what it would be like to live a simple…hermit-like existence…free from social ties, and agenda items, and running around like the proverbial headless chickens. But then I shake myself awake, frantically try to recall where I’m supposed to be going next, grab my keys, round up the appropriate family members, and bustle out the door again. (And really, I’m joking—I know the double rewards of fun and friendship that come with the sometimes frantic schedule more than make up for all the chaos. Besides, our family has a notoriously low tolerance for boredom, anyway, so what can ya do?)

Although it only affected one of us, the first thing that happened was that Derek texted me on Thursday afternoon to ask if he could go with a buddy to the UNC basketball game that night. I gave him the standard “depends on how much homework you have” line, which he subsequently assured me was “very little”. So I granted him my permission…not really remembering until later that this would be his very FIRST hoops outing of ANY kind…and he got to go to the Dean Dome, which is pretty darn cool. The Tar Heels won, he had a great time...and he gleefully reported that the sound-level-meter periodically registered the crowd’s enthusiasm at…105 decibels. (Holy Noise-Induced Hearing Loss, Batman. That’s LOUD!)

Next, on Friday I did my usual errand thing, scrambling to get as much done as possible in anticipation of the upcoming soccer-palooza weekend. There was a bit of added pressure to this week’s chore list, as I had to wrap things up by 2:00 so I could retrieve Riley from school, for a check-in visit to the orthopedist. (“Ugh. Whyyyy do I have to go back there? I’m fiiiiiineeee!” Yes, dear, but they’re doctors and they want to be thorough. Humor them, ‘kay?) X-rays revealed that the break is completely healed (as expected) and that both legs look the same—which is of course the goal. And the measuring tape test found them to be identical in length as well, so it appears that the growth plate was not compromised. Yay! And…now we’re DONE with that.

Saturday dawned bright and early…for some. Riley’s team had a match…at a complex in Raleigh (just under an hour away)…at 9:30. Since their coach wants them to arrive 45 minutes prior to kickoff, that meant that Husband and son left the house at 8—which is already TOO MUCH MATH for a weekend, am I right? Meanwhile, Derek had been invited to a 17th birthday dinner (at a restaurant I like to refer to as the House ‘O Beef. Okay, it’s actually called the Angus Barn, but you get the idea….) the night before with a friend’s family, and then spent the night at their house. 

If you’re following along carefully, you’ll already have gathered the significance of what I’m telling you…that’s right, folks: I had the entire house to myself…for the whole morning. (Whoo hoo!)
Eventually everyone returned—Riley and his father cold-but-victorious, and Derek slightly woozy from an evening characterized by excessive food and lack of sleep. No time to sit around and goof off, however, as the footballer and I had to head back out around 2 for his afternoon contest, while Husband and Derek took care of…assorted...household stuff. I did my Supportive Mom part to cheer Riley and his mates on to another (windy—which meant there was no clapping…since I couldn’t feel my hands at all…) win, after which we reconvened the Home Team for some much-needed downtime. (How exhausted was Riley? Let’s just say that I think the only time he got out from underneath his covers that night—ever-so-briefly--was to eat dinner…)

Unfortunately, the recuperation was short-lived, as Riley’s tournament carried over into Sunday as well…with two more matches on the schedule. Even worse, his first game started at 8 a.m. Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the calculations: the only important thing you have to know is that the poor child had to drag himself out of bed at 5:45. (He was soooooo NOT a happy camper…) The good news…for his parents, that is…is that we’d arranged for another family (who had to get up at the crack of 'o-dark-thirty anyway, for something to do with one of their kids…I didn’t really catch the details, just the critical “Sure, we’ll take him”) to ferry Riley to the morning game.

In one of those “are you kidding me with this” moments, Husband actually said to me, “Are you going to get up and see him off, or am I?” When I just stood there, staring at him blankly, he took my silence to mean “that would be ALL YOU, dude”. (Because, seriously, how long has he known me? Anytime before 7:00 is the middle of the night to me, and therefore meant to be spent snoozing. Yeah, it’s a firm part of my personal code of ethics…or whatever…) But after a moment I was able to formulate the question I wanted to ask, which was, “WHY? He’s a teenager, and perfectly capable of throwing on his uniform, grabbing some breakfast, and waiting in the driveway for his ride…all by himself. But if you feel the need to oversee the process, knock yourself out. (Whattya say you do me a favor and be reeeallllly quiet, though, so you don’t wake me...)

So, this allowed me the opportunity to try out a new (to me) fitness group that meets outdoors on Sunday mornings (at a reasonable hour, thankyouverymuch) to do a variety of different workouts. This week was Tabatas—and if you’re not familiar with the term, all you need to know is “intense”…and later, “incredibly sore”. Sometime around when I was finished, Riley then magically reappeared to report that his squad had prevailed yet again…and he was going to take a nap before the 4th and final match. He and I then packed the car up one more time for the commute to Raleigh, where “the lads” (as they shall be known, the coach being British, and all) held on to win a squeaker, thereby securing the top spot in their age group…and earning medals. Not an altogether unpleasant way to kick off a season—with 4 victories and some hardware--yeah?


With all of the…festivities…under our belts, the only thing left to do was squeeze in a little bit of R&R…and lament how tired we were all going to feel when Monday showed up. And as anticipated, the work and school week arrived far too soon…but if we can just hang in there, in 5 days, we get one of those rare, priceless gems: a weekend with NOTHING ON THE CALENDAR. Somehow, I feel we deserve it!

Friday, January 27, 2017

New Horizons

In light of recent developments in the lives of Team WestEnders (which I reeeallly should have seen coming, if it weren't for that whole "denial" thing going on...or whatever...) I feel it would be in everyone's best interests if I just go ahead and warn you right now: there’s a whole lotta freaking out on the horizon for this mother.  You see, my baby…um “little guy?”…er…5-foot-9 , 13-year old…will soon be a High School Freshman. And yes, of course I knew about this, and it’s not actually a surprise, blah blah blah…but it’s still somehow astonishing—and disconcerting--to me that this kid got so darn grown up

But wait—as if that weren’t bad enough, at the same time Riley begins his first year of High School, Derek will be kicking off his last. That’s right: we'll also be dealing with a Senior next year. Man, don’t even get me started on how THAT’S sure to shake me up for about 10 months. I predict that once Riley settles in and the term gets rolling, that portion of the mini-emotional-crisis will abate. But the “finishing up High School and graduating” thing? Yeeeaaah, that one’s gonna be a rollercoaster ride for the duration.

So anyway, I coined the term “pre-freak-out mode” to describe my current mental state when chatting with a friend about all this last week. ( You know what I'm talking about: when you're on the brink of spazzing out, but still relatively holding it together? Feel free to go ahead and use it, when applicable. I don’t mind at all…) And the first triggering event happened last night: Rising 9th Grade Night, hosted by Riley’s Middle School, for..."concerned parents" such as yours truly. 

So there I was, patting myself on the back for being on top of things, doing my job, getting some expert advice on how to help my son navigate the next 4 years of his life, when I told Riley about the meeting. His reaction was…startling: “MOM!” he huffed in a completely exasperated tone, with a fierce frown to match. “You don’t need to go to this thing. I’m the SECOND kid! You already know all this stuff!”

Hahahahahahaha! Whew, that’s priceless, honey. If only. The thing is, we missed all this the first time around, since we were still in Maryland. I mean, I’m sure they covered these topics in their previous schools—we just tuned them out, knowing we wouldn’t be around for it to matter to us. Then when we arrived in North Carolina, with no prior information, and had to figure out the process for getting the boys started in their new district. Granted, Middle School is pretty straightforward, as your classes are basically dictated to you, leaving you with little decision-making to do. But High School? Hmm, we definitely muddled our way through registering Derek for his schedule. 

Yes, it all ended up fine, and we did learn a lot along the way…but what if something’s changed since the first time around? We could screw it up completely, and wreck the whole thing! You see why I feel compelled to go, right? (Okay, breathing…I’m better now. But…I think  we all are aware that it doesn’t matter if I have a pair of children…or a dozen…I’m still attending these Parent Education Opportunities. Every. Single. One. To avoid panic attacks like this we've just witnessed…)

Of course, the Guidance Department is busy counseling the students themselves on what to expect and how to select courses. Riley came home with a sheet that showed a “Sample 5-Year Plan” (Yikes! I swear, I don’t even have one of those…I feel like such a slacker now…) for how one could progress through High School while successfully meeting all the requirements for a diploma. Then there was the “Registration Worksheet”, on which one could write down their tentative choices for next year’s courseload. 

One major load off my mind: I needn’t worry about Riley taking this seriously. (Right, as if that were EVER a problem…) Not only has he already filled out some of his preliminary paperwork, he’s also stated that he wants to have a Family Chat before he completes his official form. He and I have already talked it over a bit; in addition, he wants to seek his older brother’s opinions, and ask him questions about his experiences in High School.

Ay yi yi. There you have it: a relatively brief explanation as to why in the coming months I might seem at times a little…crazed? Sad? Overwhelmed? Nostalgic? Right: the answer is E! All of the above! And while I’m at it, let me offer an early apology for all that (waves hands broadly to indicate...the world in general). Meanwhile, let's all keep our fingers crossed that everyone weathers the thrill ride, and comes out grinning on the other side. (Hey, at these times that inevitably come up on the road of life, when things can get tough, and challenges are thrown your way...I hear chocolate helps! My personal mantra...)  

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Prologue to a Central American Quest

Ever since Team WestEnders started going on annual Summer Adventures (back in 2009), I've always fulfilled the unofficial Travel Agent role--proposing possible destinations, researching all the particulars, booking the reservations, and making the payments. And I L-O-V-E doing this, don't get me wrong...but when it came time to think about this year's vacation, I just sort of found myself...lacking inspiration. You see, it just so happened over time that we've fallen into a pattern: domestic trip alternating with international holiday. Following the plan, 2017 is supposed to be a passport-required, (typically) tropical, (hopefully) all-inclusive getaway. But--aside from the vague idea of "an island...somewhere", I wasn't what you'd call "teeming with ideas".

So, for the first time, I threw it out there to the Male Trio for assistance. Now, Derek sort of  shrugged helplessly...and most likely forgot about the question 10 minutes after I posed it. Husband and Riley, however, set themselves enthusiastically to the task, and began scouring the Internet for options. When I requested an update, they reported that their main focus was "We want more rainforest!" Apparently they'd enjoyed Costa Rica so much in 2015 that they were itching to experience that kind of locale again. And after much deliberation, they settled on (drumroll): Belize! Allllrighty, then...a country we know absolutely nothing about...but at least this gives us something concrete on which to focus our efforts and attention! Well done, Staff--er...I mean "family"!

Then...the days and weeks passed....the holidays came and went...and I heard nothing new on the Operation Travel front. When I tried to pump Riley for information--since he was the one around when I remembered to ask--he responded, "Oh, Dad said that you're the one who always makes the arrangements!" Oh, suuuuure...the implication being, of course, that "our work here is done, and Mom will take over with the actual, you know, millions of DETAILS that go into setting up a successful week-long excursion". Ay yi yi.

Well, at least now I knew that the metaphorical baton had been passed off to me, so I could get down to the business of making our imaginary beach escape a reality. First things first: lodging. Usually when we venture outside the U.S. I consult AAA for guidance. But it was MLK weekend, and I had free time, so I decided to start looking around by myself and see how far I got before calling in professional reinforcements. I won't bore you with the endless scrolling through of "this hotel", "that area"...blah blah blah...that I did in my preliminary study--it's much more interesting to just skip to the part where I stumbled upon a small, boutique-type, eco-friendly property that, from the photos and descriptions on the website, looked and sounded absolutely AMAZING.

Seriously, it's on the shore--as in "walk out your front porch onto the sand"--and offers exactly the kinds of activities we want, such as snorkeling the world's second longest barrier reef, visiting Mayan ruins, and trekking a jungle and waterfall hike. Um...yessss...sign us right the heck up, please! Naturally, the boys were a wee bit concerned about the, ahem, "dining situation", since this resort is much less expansive than others we've previously stayed at, but I assured them that they make it seem as though they'll provide plenty of food. And as a bonus, on the website in bold letters, it proclaims that if you're vegetarian, vegan, gluten free, lactose intolerant....or have any other dietary concerns...they will gladly accommodate you. (Happy dance--I'll be able to EAT there!)

I did feel that there was one teensy little item I'd better get out in the open right away, to avoid any overblown fits of astonished outrage when we arrive: there isn't a TV...or WiFi...in the room. (I know, right? GASP!) This meant that Derek could go ahead and get his mini (mostly mock) tantrum over with before we even embark on our expedition. Lest he EVER dare to say he might be bored, however, I pointed out that along with the 30-acres of grounds (encompassing several different types of natural environments) that are open for one's wandering pleasure...and the nearby village with local cultural performances...and the pool...and the OCEAN...kayaks, snorkeling equipment, and stand-up paddleboards are all available for guest use...for free. I'd say we should be quite entertained, wouldn't you?

Also, I warned everyone that the whole "getting there" itself promises to be somewhat different...and more involved....than anything we've done before. It involves a 2-part flight to Belize...followed by a 20-minute jaunt in what I assume will be a tiny plane, taking us to an airstrip...at which point a vehicle from the resort will pick us up to shuttle us the rest of the way. (I can already tell you that, following just this small portion of the excitement, I'm already gonna be feeling all "Juana the Explorer"...and whatnot...)

After sharing all this with the guys, I was given the emphatic thumbs-up to go ahead and put down a deposit, so I placed a call and spoke to someone at the front desk. Yes, that took a minute for me to process: I'm on the phone...with Belize. (Whooaaaaa....super cool!) Now, barring any unforeseen complications, all that's left to do is purchase airline tickets, and we'll be (literally) good to go. When I attempted to discuss this final step with Husband, noting several factors I was weighing and considering, and how they significantly affected the costs, he held up a hand in the universal sign for "Buhbuhbuh--don't tell me anything!" And just in case there was any chance I could misinterpret the gesture, he added a vehement, "I don't wanna know how much it is! It's vacation!" (Sheesh...it's a good thing he trusts me so much, yeah?)

So as usual, there was an initial burst of WHOO HOO, we're going someplace awesome...in 6 months! Then the emotional high wore off, of course....and now, we wait. Oh, and let's not forget the very important chore of handing over the moolah for all those pesky bills that go into securing such a trip. That's right, get the painful part over with, so at the end of July, we'll be having all the fun, baby! Now if you'll excuse me, I might go make myself a mango smoothie to set the right mood....for trying to dig up airline deals. (Ooh, this could be rough...I'd better make it a double...)

Thursday, January 19, 2017

This is going to be an education, all right...

When the current grading period of the 2016-2017 academic year comes to a close tomorrow, my older son will officially be...a Second Semester Junior. Now, I realize this doesn't carry the same weight or prestige as being a Senior, on the cusp of graduating from High School...but still, it kicks off a whole array of fresh...potentially exciting...and very probably nerve-wracking events in the near future, and extending for an indeterminate length of time (until one makes some extremely important decisions...but much more on that later...). As a family, this is the first time we'll be going through this together, and I'm sure I'll have quite a bit to share about the process as things unfold. So whattya say we consider this the inaugural installment of Derek's Road to...Whatever Comes Next. (How's that for vague and open-ended? Wouldn't wanna put too much pressure on the boy, right?)

For Derek, one of the first things that occurred in this brave new era is that his mother--being the ultra-helpful...somewhat Type-A...loving parent that she is--signed him up for practice runs of the college entrance exams. So he grumbled a bit, but showed up on a couple of different Saturday mornings, took the tests...and then did...nothing. And by that I mean that he received his ACT score in good time, as promised, but failed to mention this fact to anyone. That is, until Mom--annoyed that we hadn't heard anything and seeking to get to the bottom of the situation--logged into his account, and checked his messages herself...and found the notification RIGHT THERE where it should be, having arrived WEEKS ago, on schedule.

(She then proceeded to demonstrate her frustration by yelling loudly about his lack of responsibility and follow-through, whilst whacking her son about the head with the rolled-up score report that she'd printed. You know, to teach him the error of his ways...or what have you. However, since this only served to reduce him to helpless giggles, I don't think the point was made. Especially because about a month later, while we were cooperatively cleaning out the Black Hole of Paper that had accumulated in his closet--already-graded assignments, both outdated and current syllabi and course requirements, random pages of notes...etc--we chanced upon his SAT documentation, languishing in his backpack. "Oh," he grinned in what was probably supposed to be a charmingly impish manner, "I was supposed to give that to you, wasn't I?" Siiiighhhhh...clearly, more beating will be necessary...)

Anyway, the natural consequence of registering for these sessions is that they now have your name...and address...and probably email (although who knows if Derek will ever check it again, so that might be wasted effort on their part). And you know what happens next: those details get disseminated to every Tom, Dick, and Harry institution of higher learning in the known universe...and they begin sending you information. Sure enough, the first piece of correspondence arrived about a week ago--from a college we'd never heard of...in Rochester, New York. So, not really a viable contender for Derek's attention, but I was jazzed, nonetheless. When I waved it under his nose and expressed my enthusiasm, however, Derek's response was decidedly...lukewarm.

Of course, there's no way in HECK I was gonna let him get away without at least peeking inside the envelope...which he somehow managed to utterly mangle in the attempt. "You know," I quipped, if you can't open their mail, they're never going to let you take classes there." To which he retorted, "Well, they shouldn't make it so difficult!" (Oh, honey...if you only knew the trials that await you...envelopes are the LEAST of your worries...) Once he had managed to fight his way into the contents, he glanced at the list of majors and cheerfully announced, "Hey, I AM interested in... Theatre!" (Which incidentally is possibly the most enormous lie ever to issue from that kid's mouth...to my knowledge, anyway...) On a roll, he continued, "And I DO speak a language!" (Yeeeahhhh...that would be...ENGLISH...)

Once Derek's smart-aleck comments had run their course, Riley wandered in and joined the conversation. Amusingly, the younger brother showed much more interest in the subject...although he had some erroneous pre-conceived notions that needed correcting. "You mean they picked you to go to their school?" Um....noooo...not exactly. He tried again, "They're inviting you to visit?" Well...not that, either. We explained that it was simply a form letter, distributed to possibly thousands of Juniors across the country, to promote their college and get the name out there in case you weren't familiar with them. (Actually, it was kind of disappointing to explain it...in realistic terms...so much for the initial thrill...oh well...)

That turned out to signal the proverbial floodgates opening, as the envelopes began arriving regularly (always one per day, never more or less, for some reason). Number 2 hailed from an institution in Virginia--we knew nothing about the the school, but it did prompt me to exclaim, "Hey, they're getting nearer!" As it turns out, that applies only to geography...since it was an all-male campus. (Also Derek noted, "The envelopes don't get any easier, the closer you get to North Carolina..." Real World Skills, dude...we'll work on it...) But the final dismissal for this particular college came when I read Derek the initial line from the standardized letter, which stated, "Your commitment to personal success indicates that you will thrive in the college environment...(blah blah blah)" I didn't get any further before he stopped me with a scornful, "Pfft, they don't know very much about me at all!" Riiiight...moving on, then...

The next day's post brought...not only an in-state university...but one whose name sort-of rang a bell...ish. (Whoo hoo!?) When I pointed out that fact to Riley, it was his turn to scoff, "Bah, they're not D-1...there's no WAY Derek will go there." And no, I'm not kidding: that's one of the factors that actually matters most to my beloved child: the level of competitiveness of the sports program. The other one that I think he considers most significant is the amount and quality of...food available to students. (Do you see what I'm dealing with, here? Ay yi yi. But this is a whole other post for somewhere down the line, trust me...) We also got our daily chuckle out of their version of the cheesy pickup line aimed at gullible young adults: "I'm impressed with your accomplishments so far, and I think you're on track to make even bigger strides in college..." Seriously? Does anyone fall for that?

Aaannd to continue (I swear I do NOT intend to write about every single one of these...for the next year...) Western Carolina checked in, proclaiming that "Your high school accomplishments have caught my attention..." (Yeah, right--into the file you go...because you didn't think for a second that I was discarding any of these, did you? Puh-leaz...they're numbered...and tucked away...where they will remain, right up until the moment he chooses and is accepted into someplace, at which point we'll ceremonially, with much fanfare...on my part, anyway...recycle the whole shebang...)

Finally (for this segment, at least) UNC made its appearance. And can I just say, it's about time? Jeez, Louise--where have you been? Ohhhh wait...UNC Pembroke. No, I don't have any idea where Pembroke is...or what it's like. Heck, I didn't even realize there was such a thing as UNCP. So when I Googled it, I found out that it's about 2 hours straight south of here...and "historically American Indian"...and then I quit reading. Also, they didn't even pretend to flatter Derek, just simply sent a computer-generated username and password to be used for accessing "two free search tools" to help in "landing the right college"! Um...thanks? Maybe later...

So that's where things stand at the moment...unsolicited propaganda flowing in steadily...but the Junior isn't showing much clue yet about what he wants--or where he wishes to seek it. And of course this is perfectly fine for right now--I'm certain that...stuff...will start to become clear as time marches on...and his parents keep pestering him to, for the love of Pete, name some campuses he'd like to perhaps tour. Keep all body parts safely inside the vehicle...and stay tuned...this ride is just on its way out of the station...wheeeeeeee!

Saturday, January 14, 2017

A Variety of Seasonal Offerings--Take Your Pick...

Having relocated to NC from Maryland about 2-1/2 years ago, I feel qualified at this point to state with a fair amount of certainty that Winter is an...interesting...season around here. First of all, I've always found it amusing that we're still technically part of the Mid-Atlantic region (note: NOT "the South"...which I'm led to understand officially begins in the other Carolina), yet the meteorological happenings during Chapel Hill's short couple of months between (extended) Fall and (early-arriving) Spring couldn't be much more different from our previous home state.

For example, I remember when Team WestEnders first journeyed to the area in December 2013, to do some recon and determine whether it was someplace we could see ourselves settling. The whole time we were here, the daytime temps climbed to at least 50 degrees...and everyone we came in contact with during our stay actually apologized for how COLD it was. Seriously, we were shedding our jackets, walking around in sweatshirts, and assuring people that we were just fine, thank you--and appreciating what felt to us like delightful, mild...un-Winter-ish...afternoons.

From our observations over time, the standard pattern seems to be: overnight lows anywhere from the teens to thirties, and highs during the daylight hours in the 40s or 50s as a rule. Then you'll get brief bouts of frigidness--usually a couple of days to a week--but you know they're temporary, and things will return to normal soon enough. This makes it sooooo much easier for folks like, oh...say...ME....to deal with my least favorite time of the year, because it's not terribly bitter cold, or drawn out endlessly...and therefore one doesn't feel the intense desire to hide indoors and protect oneself until it's all over (kind of like...a less-furry bear--those guys have the right idea, I'm tellin' ya...).

Now, one unfortunate thing that we were told, which has also held true, is that this region tends to get more of the sleet-type-stuff than snow. Obviously this makes driving and walking...and going to school...more challenging from time to time. Case in point: we suffered a dose of icy precipitation last weekend--maybe an inch or two of "wintry mix" that coated our roads and sidewalks. And I'm not kidding you: the students were out for THREE days because of it. As for my own boys, the progression went something like this...thrilled for the first day...relieved about the second (since they got to stay up late for the Alabama/Clemson football game)...and totally ready to go back by the third.

As a matter of fact, I think Husband might have been on the same page as well; when I arrived home from work that last day (because, you know, the roads were absolutely clear by then) he made sure to point out, in a very self-satisfied tone, that the brothers had been "bickering"...so he'd sent them out to scrape the remaining frozen coating from the driveway. However, when I queried the boys about it later, Derek chuckled and said, "Yeeaahh...we had like a 4-second debate about who was going to unclog the toilet (honestly, I think I'd argue about....I mean "discuss" the division of labor on that chore, also...eww...so happy I missed that one...), which Dad heard, and immediately sent us outside." Hmm....it appears that the return to academia came without a moment to spare for all concerned, yeah?

And then...right on the heels of our Winterlude, Spring showed up. I mean, 70 degree days, both Thursday and Friday....prompting the natives to go a little nuts and break out the t-shirts and shorts again. (I hadn't really thought about it before, but no one around here probably ever puts away their so-called "out-of-season wardrobe"...to be on the safe side...'cuz you just never know...) As we all are well aware, I tend toward the chilly side, so I didn't push it quite that far...but I did go running in much lighter clothing--and fewer layers--than I'd usually be able to manage at this time of year...and I even rode my bike. You heard me, my friends: I can now say that--for what I believe is the first time ever--I've braved my two-wheeler in January. And yes, I felt all wild and reckless and...whatnot. (But most critically, NOT miserable...or...popsicled...)

One thing that entertained me while I was out-and-about in the neighborhood--besides the unexpected gift of super-pleasant mid-Winter conditions--was that more than a handful of residents still have their holiday decorations up...and turned on every night. I, personally, like to tuck ours away around New Year's Day, yet I admit that I do continue to enjoy seeing the festive lights. Heck, maybe at this point they're meant to spread a little twinkly cheer during the darkest and frostiest season? (Sure, we'll go with that.)

Now, I know it's too much to hope that after our one little visit from Old Man Winter we're all done with that kind of nonsense. So, okay, I'll concede that we're most likely going to have a repeat performance (or two) in February. With that being said, do you think maybe we can strike some kind of a bargain...with Mother Nature? As a trade-off, I'd like to ask for at least one more out-of-character Spring-like day next month...to go running...or riding...or heck, maybe just walk around and drink it all in...while admiring the...President's Day decor? Ha!

Monday, January 9, 2017

Snow Business

Since Team WestEnders moved to central North Carolina a few years ago, we’ve noticed that our Winter weather experience typically includes a couple of “events” per season…but usually a combination of snow and ice, rather than just the fluffy white stuff by itself. This obviously makes things hazardous—for navigating both in a car and on foot—as the roads and sidewalks can resemble a treacherous skating rink after the precipitation ends.

Also of note: the most significant storm stuff seems to generally happen in February…so when the forecast last week started calling for a SNOWFALL…in JANUARY…everyone sat up and paid attention. Then the numbers started being tossed around…3-7 inches possible on Friday…with an additional 2-4 on Saturday? Whaaaaat? (And this was from the NOAA website, which I tend to trust, since they’re all official…federal…meteorologist-types…) This only served to intensify the buzz of speculation in the area, as folks braced for the impending…whatever.

Here in Casa WestEnders, however, we take these things with a verrrry large grain of salt. In fact, Husband and I adopted our customary “I’ll believe it when I see it” philosophy, while Derek took a practical approach: “I’d prefer to be off of school on Monday…just on principleand Tuesday, so I can stay up and watch the [NCAA Football] National Championship game…with no repercussions….but I don’t think that’ll happen.” And Riley? I’d say he was pretty equally divided between enthusiasm and skepticism—trying hard to temper his excitement, so he wouldn’t be let down too badly if nothing happened.

But as the alleged S-Day approached, things started getting a little wacky in the ‘hood. First, I passed a salt truck spraying our street as I pulled out of the driveway to leave for work on Thursday morning. Hmmm…emergency preparedness…looks a little more serious. But the true sign of the looming apocalypse came when I stopped off at Whole Foods at lunchtime...and I’m telling you, folks, it was a C-I-R-C-U-S. There I was, purchasing my fresh fruit and gluten-free baking mix—but I saw a whole lotta WINE in the carts of the good citizens around me. Yep, planning for the worst, indeed.

Perhaps I shouldn’t make light of the situation, though, because the next thing that happened constituted somewhat of a…oh, let’s call it “mini-crisis”…in our family. You see, it suddenly dawned on me that Riley…didn’t own a coat. Of any kind. At all. When I went into his room to inform him of this—in a state of mild panic—he nonchalantly said, “Isn’t there one in my closet from last year?” (Um….nooooo, honey…remember how you grew several inches and put on about 20 pounds since then? Yeah, that’ll rule the old jacket right out…) So we had a quick discussion about what he might want in terms of his outerwear options—and I steeled myself for an (admittedly ill-advised) pre-storm Target run.

And you know what? In contrast to my grocery store debacle the day before, Target was…almost eerily calm. The only thing I could figure is that everyone had already accomplished stocking their pantries, and had hunkered down to await the arrival of the…Winter….ness? Whatever the cause, I was grateful...and I also sent up a “thank you” to the apparel powers-that-be--who despite choosing to prominently display swimsuits at a time of year when the last thing most of us want to do is be “mostly naked”,--at least also left a handful of coats out on the racks. Yes, the selection was pitiful, but I found something in Riley’s size, snatched it up, and called it D-O-N-E.

Lucky for me, Riley liked the (Champion brand) jacket I’d brought him. But it became an instant joke in our house-- the fact that the tag on the zipper proclaimed it to be their “warmest”. Now, anyone who knows this kid is aware that he has an internal heating element that works overtime for him—so he’s almost never chilly. He therefore always made sure to mention it when donning his gear and heading outside in the subsequent days: “I’ll be fine! You know, since I have the ‘warmest’!” (Yeah, yeah, take your polar-bear-self outside and run around, ya big goofball…)

At that point, there was really nothing left to do but sit back…and obsessively watch the updated predictions…and of course place informal bets as to exactly how long the kids would be out of school when the s…now hit the fan…er “pavement”. Because if the NOAA scenario held true, they’d miss the entire week, no doubt. NC doesn’t have the budget or equipment to clean up that kind of accumulation, and it therefore needs to rely on our friend Mr. Sun to help with  melting—which would be unlikely, with temps projected to remain below freezing until at least the middle of the following week. But the truth is, even if we got only ONE inch, schools would probably close for...a day or so, maybe?…especially if it was mixed with any sleet at all. There are quite a few big hills, some unpaved side streets, and many kids who walk to school, so I get that the idea of buses and children on ice-encrusted paths is neither safe nor appealing to the people who have to make these kinds of decisions.

Of course, all of this was pure conjecture—and also very entertaining, don’t get me wrong—until Friday arrived, and we were informed sometime around mid-morning that schools would be closing 2 hours early. Siiighhhh. I'm sorry...over-react, much? The kids naturally thought it was absolutely hilarious, and the mood of amusement continued as we watched the skies into the afternoon…and evening…while nothing happened. That’s right—we even went out for pizza to a popular local restaurant, wanting to get a trip in before the UNC students return next week for the “Spring Semester” (Ha!) and flood the place….and all was…frigid…but dry.

Stuff finally did begin drifting down from the heavens later that night, but we could tell from the plink-plink-plinking sound that it was that dreaded “wintry mix”. And sure enough, when we awoke the next morning, the landscape appeared to be covered by a thin coating of shiny snow—certainly not anywhere NEAR even the minimum anticipated amount. So,, were the children disappointed? On the contrary, they were blasé about the botched forecast…all they really wanted was to get outdoors and romp around in it…which they did…from approximately 10 a.m. until dinnertime. According to the sporadic reports I got when I actually saw or heard from one of them, there was much sledding—as expected—and…football. (Don’t ask me—they’re BOYS…)

As we’ve already established over the years, I don’t deal well with the malady known as “cabin fever”, and for me it has a remarkably short incubation period…so by Saturday afternoon I was already itching to get out of the house. Our standard mantra for addressing slippery road conditions—within reason, of course—is “Eh, we have a Subaru; it should be okay.” So I crept down our driveway (a steep slope) without incident, and set out to take the lay of the land, as it were. And I discovered that it was…reasonably picturesque…and slick. Although I, personally, had no problems on my short jaunt, I could easily see how it would not be ideal for small, light, non-4WD or AWD vehicles.

And given the well-below-freezing thermometer readings? Anything that did get packed down, or turned to slush by the small bit of solar energy we received for a few hours, refroze even more rock-solid and perilous after dark. Case in point: even our driveway lost all of its minuscule snow cover, so traction became suddenly nonexistent…which I found out as I (fortunately slowly, and with no other cars coming toward me) slid down the hill into the street when attempting to vacate the premises again on Sunday. So it was no surprise at all later that day when we got the message that schools would be closed on Monday.

Okay, that takes care of ¾ of our merry little band of…snowmen? But it hadn’t occurred to me to borrow a company laptop before going home on Thursday, so I wouldn’t be able to work…or, you know, get paid…unless I ventured into the office.  Alrighty, then—let’s put on our big girl…boots…and go get this done! Meanwhile, mind you, the rest of my suite-mates had all checked in with the news that they would be staying in their cozy homes and tackling job-related tasks from there (probably in their pjs—a choice I whole-heartedly support, by the way).

So I braved the driveway again (which I felt went much better than the previous day, although Husband was apparently watching out the window when I left and texted me that he’d found it nerve-wracking) and the roads (which were, happily, mostly clear, dry, and not scary at all…unless you consider how unusually empty they were) and my building’s parking lot…which was a nightmare skating rink that the car's tires managed with relative ease, but the tread on my footwear had some trouble negotiating.

As I mentioned, I saw very few other automobiles on my commute, leading me to conclude that even the adults in our town took a Snow Day, or else opted to work by linking up with their servers from the comfort of their living rooms. And in my office? I was an Army of One, baby. That’s right, just me…and the Keurig…hanging out in the extremely quiet environment…talking to myself out loud once in a while to keep it from getting TOO dead-silent and creeping me out.


Now we just have to hang on until we hear whether normal activities will resume tomorrow…or Mid-Winter Break will be prolonged. (I’d place money…or chocolate…on the latter. Yep, that’s how sure I am!) As for me, I plan to celebrate my successful slide home with some hot cocoa, a toasty blanket, and a good book. Oh, and I’ll just bide my time until Wednesday, when we’re supposed to be back into the  mid-50s...and this will all go away

Friday, January 6, 2017

In it for the long run (hopefully!)

I began my own informal running program the Summer after my Freshman year of High School. Why does the timing stick out so clearly in my memory? Because for some reason I had decided that I wanted to play field hockey in the next Fall season. (I wish I could go back and ask my 15 year old self what the HECK she was thinking…an out-of-shape, previously unathletic, and--let’s just be honest, here—distinctly non…”tough” girl suddenly got the notion that she should run around with a stick and hack at a ball? I had good friends on the team, that’s all I can tell ya…) One of my buddies who’d played one year already and therefore knew what she was talking about solemnly counseled me to start training immediately…so I wouldn’t “throw up during August practices”. Well…alrighty, then—I took her word for it, and pretty much have been a runner ever since.

Back in my tender youth, I ran all the time--basically to the exclusion of any other type of exercise. However, I realized….oh, way back in my 20s…that if I wanted to still have functioning joints as I got older, that I should diversify my workout regime. So from then on, I mixed it up, and stuck to pounding the pavement once or twice a week—enough to keep me happy…and still be able to, you know, “walk under my own power”.

This has come even more to the forefront of my mind lately, for several reasons. First, my dad has arthritis…and two bad knees (which he refuses to get fixed, but that’s a whole other story, folks)…and I can’t even imagine how that must feel, because merely watching him try to painfully, slowly move around is excruciating. And then, of course, there’s my own recent battle with the blanket term “inflammation”. With all the therapies—both traditional and alternative—that I’ve been engaging in, I feel like I’m doing a metaphorical sprint…to keep ahead of the threat of impending…joint creakinessAnd mostly I’d say it’s been working pretty well. Avoiding all the inflammatory food baddies, taking natural supplements and homeopathic remedies and…whatnot…have slowly but surely improved both the hand pain and the stomach issues that prompted me to seek out the naturopathic practitioner in the first place.

So, to the present (and the point!): one day in December we were enjoying quite balmy conditions—warm enough even to wear shorts and a t-shirt to go for a run. The 3.5 miles went smoothly, easily, and enjoyably, as did the walk back to the house, and the post-workout stretching. But then (cue ominous music) back at the house, when I placed my left foot on the first step of the staircase, to descend and get more water…my knee almost crumpled, and caused me to tumble unceremoniously down to the bottom. And can I just say: YOWCHIES, man!

It was like an explosion of agony, out of the blue. Now, let me explain that my innate tendency is to use medicine…and consult doctorssparingly. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate and am grateful for pharmaceutical and medical help when necessary, but it’s usually not my first instinct when something happens. So it was pretty significant to me that I INSTANTLY thought, “Okay, exactly how long am I going to give this to clear up on its own, before I go see a specialist?” I didn’t actually answer myself; rather, I just decided (in typical fashion) to take a wait-and-see approach. Therefore I hobbled around for about a day and a half, utilizing a heating pad (which felt awesome, so say what you will about icing, I opt for the soothing warmth) and OTC pain meds…at which point it just…resolved.

Needless to say, I was hugely relieved by this development. (Yay! I don’t need to actually, you know, address the problem!) Then we had another gorgeous afternoon, about a week after the “incident”, and it was just too good to pass up for getting outside and putting a few more miles on the running shoes. And—you probably guessed it—same lovely workout…identical unexplained knee trauma afterwards…for about an equal amount of time, also.

By this point I was waffling about what to do—continue ignoring the situation (sooo tempting…even if, admittedly, incredibly unwise) or get it examined and figured out (more hassle…but smarter. You see my dilemma, right? Continued suffering vs…minor inconvenience. Yeeeaaah, never mind…). In the meantime I happened to have a scheduled appointment with the aforementioned naturopath, with whom I shared the whole saga. She looked at me sympathetically and said--in a tone that managed to be non-judgmental…but also brook no argument-- “Do me a favor…and have that checked out.” Oh, FINE, since YOU asked me to (heaving a dramatic sigh for effect…but inwardly agreeing with her completely).  

It was now December 23rd, and I knew I had one shot to get this taken care of, or else I’d have to wait until after the holidays. From both Riley’s and my recent maladies, I was aware of an orthopedic clinic nearby that conducted walk-in hours. You just show up, sign in, wait your turn, and meet with the next available physician. So with fingers firmly crossed, I set out from home at 9 a.m….bringing a book, just in case I was stuck there for a while…to take my chances. I was hoping that many people had taken the day off, given its proximity to Christmas—and the lack of traffic on the way there seemed to bear out this wish.

I arrived to an almost-empty lobby as well…so far, so good! And whattya know: I was in and out of there in 25 minutes flat, having been prodded and questioned and ultimately diagnosed with (dah dah dah DA) inflammation. (Whoa, there’s a shock, right?) The very nice PA informed me it was probably caused by “the patella and femur rubbing against each other” (wincing—that just doesn’t sound pleasant, does it? Trust me, it doesn’t feel too terrific, either…) and leading to the sensation of intense irritation.

On to the critical details: recommendations for remediation? Two weeks without running (um…hold that thought, we’ll come back to it), strengthening exercises for the area around the kneecap, and a regimen of NSAIDs. The first one, of course, I immediately balked at (in my head, at least) until I realized that it had already been almost a week since I’d last run…but more importantly, the next reeealllly pleasant forecast was coming up on Tuesday, which would make it about 10 days of rest, which in real-world language translates to…CLOSE ENOUGH, Doc. As for the isometric exercises-- no problem, happy to do them. When it came to the pills, though, I inquired as to how many he’d want me to be popping, and he gave me a choice: 3 Ibuprofens, 3 times a day…or he’d write me a prescription for something I could take once daily. Um, yes, please, THAT one!

When I got home with my little bottle of...pharmacological sweetness...I didn’t bother to read the package insert, since I assumed it was simply a stronger concentration of the same active ingredient as, say, Advil. Husband, however, having been employed in the pharmaceutical research industry for several decades, couldn’t resist perusing the fine print. (I swear he does this for FUN…that’s a whole different kind of nerd, y’all….) No sooner had he seen the name of the concoction, than he exclaimed, “Wow! That’s the good stuff!” Ohhhhh? Well…cool!

And guess what? Within two days of swallowing the happy tablets, absolutely Every. Single. One…of the the nagging, background aches and twinges that you sort of tune out, and learn to endure on a day-to-day basis, and consider them just the price of being alive at this age…vanished. I mean G-O-N-E…almost as if those tiny gems were made of magic, rather than whatever chemicals actually go into them. It felt like a (legal) drug-induced miracle, my friends. Seriously, I didn’t even realize how many body parts had been bothering me…until they suddenly...weren’t.

So then I read the FDA’s helpful information, and right there in black and white it says: used to treat characteristics of…arthritis. (Groan…not the A-word!) So obviously this wasn’t given to me right this moment as a forever solution, but I’m certainly enjoying my two weeks of pain-free existence while it lasts. And doing my exercises. And also (mumbles sheepishly) running again—what can I say? We keep having these delightful weather interludes…but since visiting the ortho and following his advice, I haven’t experienced any further symptoms…pre, during, or post-jaunt. I suppose the REAL test will be when I conclude my self-imposed 14-day period of prescription assistance, and go it on my own again…but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, yeah? Hopefully on another 60-degree day in January…in running sneakers!

Monday, January 2, 2017

Maryland Meandering: The Final Act

On New Year's Eve, the Y-chromosome portion of Team WestEnders faced a daunting, chock-full agenda...oh wait, no they didn't. Their entire list of goals for the daytime hours consisted of the following: wake up...eat...watch football...repeat. Okay, to be fair, the younger boys punctuated all those stretches of lazy leisure time with some energetic bouts of playing. And in what has become a tradition--firmly in the category of "ridiculous...yet hilarious"--on every occasion when we visit this neighborhood, the boy children make their pilgrimage...to Safeway.

Even though at this point Derek could have chauffeured them, they stuck to the old habits...of riding bikes to the store. Now, this makes perfect sense in the Summer when they do it, but on a blustery, cold December afternoon? Brrrr! But I suppose have to I agree that their experience just wouldn't be the same if they couldn't argue about how much...junk they can schlep home on two wheels, though. So...what did they select to spend their hard-earned cash on this time? (Drumroll...) Chocolate croissants...doughnuts...Gatorade (so far this seems pretty in-character and even--dare I say it--reasonable)...a whole, fresh pineapple (okay, we've gone slightly off the rails)...and two bottles of froufy, aloe-infused water. (Whaaaat?)

When questioned, Derek explained that the baked goods were agreed upon by all, he and Riley wanted the sports drinks, the tropical fruit made it into the cart simply because it had been vetoed by his brother last time they went, and their friend just...wanted to buy expensive water, and "make it look like we were the kind of people who drank stuff that was 2-dollars-and-50-cents a bottle". (Well...of COURSE he did...it's actually not at all surprising, if you know this trio of goofballs...)

Reportedly the son who isn't mine lobbied for purchasing and lugging home...an entire HAM...but the sons who are mine countered that they should only choose things they were actually going to, you know, EAT. (Thank you, Temporary Voices of Reason...your elders appreciate the logic...and also NOT having to dispense with such a large amount of processed pork product...) Afterwards they apparently went to the park, as they also tend to do with their ill-gotten gains, to consume some of the pastries. (Maybe to delay their encounter with the Parental Inquisitional Squad...oh, right, that would also be known as "me"...) And finally, they returned to the homestead and used their buddy's golf clubs to practice their strokes (not that my kids HAVE one of those, but whatever)...on the remaining doughnuts. So to sum up: an altogether a successful and entertaining field trip by all accounts.

Meanwhile, I had my own little excursion to make, since I was meeting a college girlfriend for lunch. We hung out at Chipotle (one of those few "safe" places I know I can get something to eat--which does strike me as ironic, given their food-borne illness scare a while ago, but we'll just go with it...) to nosh and catch up for a while, but for some reason the restaurant was FREEZING. So we moved the conversation across the parking lot to Dunkin' Donuts, where we could procure tasty warm beverages, and continue enjoying each other's company...without shivering.

Although, speaking of being chilly, after our lovely and relaxing interlude, I returned to HQ with a few hours to spare before we needed to head out for our evening social engagement. What to do? I reeeaalllly wanted a nap...but I also knew I would benefit from a brisk walk after sitting around most of the day. In the end, the paltry number of steps logged on my FitBit guilted--um "positively motivated" me into it, and I opted for the stroll. (And can I just say: Maryland! You're killin' me! What is it with you...and WIND? Sheesh, as if I needed a reminder that I'm soooo not built for Winter...)

Then it was time to get cleaned up and gala-ready, since we'd be ushering in 2017 at a party, with a whole bunch of friends at one of their houses. There was...much revelry--mostly by the loud, rambunctious crowd of offspring. (At the risk of sounding like the Grinch...the obnoxious noisemakers, man...who invented those damn things? And can I have permission to slap them?) The adults, by comparison, were relatively sedate and well-behaved...while still managing to have a good time. Although Team WestEnders was pretty tired, as usual by this point in our Maryland sojourn, we stayed just long enough to bid 2016 farewell by watching the ball drop on TV in Times Square, welcome 2017, and wish everyone a Happy New Year...before heading back to home base for B-E-D.

On our final day in the north, after folks verrrry slowly got moving in the morning, we hung out with our hosts for a while, then spent a couple more hours at my dad's house for Bonus Family Time. After which...although we were kind of dreading it...we had to buck up and make the looong trek back to Chapel Hill. Derek got a pass this time, since all of us were probably equally exhausted...but Husband and I have logged vastly more hours behind the wheel under all conditions, and therefore felt better equipped to deal with the never-fun navigating-while-weary.

And the road was not too kind to us, either--starting with freakin' Virginia, where--for Heaven only knows what reason, because we were never able to see anything actually wrong--the 40 miles from Lorton to Fredericksburg took a delightful hour-and-a-half. (I know, I know, "So, what else is new?"...but it still SUCKS...Every. Time...) The middle section was blessedly uneventful, but the last 90 minutes featured rain--unfortunately on a not-very-well-lit part of the highway. Ugh. But, obviously we made it safe and sound...and wildly happy to be back at Casa WestEnders. It was another fabulous episode in the continuing saga, and for now we sign off with "So long, we look forward to returning and seeing you all again...when it's WARM!