Getting Schooled

Since Team WestEnders relocated to North Carolina at the conclusion of an academic year, we missed all of the transitional activities associated with moving from Elementary to Middle and Middle to High school. Therefore when registering Derek and Riley for their new scholastic homes—although the counselors, when we identified who they were, turned out to be very pleasant and helpful—it kind of felt like flying by the seat of our collective pants to get them into the appropriate classes.

But not this time, buddy! Lucky (?) Riley gets the full monty when it comes to making the leap to High School. Not only will he himself hear presentations from—and have meetings with—counselors from both programs, but his parents (or, you know, “Mom”) will take the opportunity to attend such scintillating events as Rising 9^th Grade Information Night (at his current school), and Rising Freshmen Course Night (at Chapel Hill High). In case you’re wondering just what kind of serious biz we’re talking about, here: he was given a worksheet to plan out his schedule for the coming year (reasonable and useful)…as well as a spreadsheet-kind-of-thing so he could map out his entire secondary school career. (What the WHAT? Overkill? Or tremendous foresight? I’ll let you be the judge, ‘cuz I’m just not sure…) In other words, they are Not. Messing. Around, folks.

On top of that, Riley—true to form—wanted to do everything he could to ensure that he made his best decisions…which meant discussing it with Husband…and me…and even his older brother (believe it or not). I mean, really, as a Freshman, you have very little room for creativity, anyway, so it wouldn’t seem to warrant such deep analysis, not to mention multiple brainstorming sessions. However, it seems to be the unspoken shared mission of the Guidance departments to…scare the bejeesus out of the poor 8^th graders…all under the guise of “informing and cautioning the kids”, of course. 

I’m talking about the fact that they urge you, in the strongest possible terms--and with visual charts to make it even clearer, in case you had any chance of missing their point--to consider the amount of homework that will (without exception) be heaped upon your weary head (absolutely) each night, should you elect to sign up for multiple Honors-level classes. And the numbers they throw out there ARE pretty terrifying, actually—adding up to several hours of unrelenting evening toil on a daily basis. It’s enough to make you cower in your chair and rethink changing all your selections to Standard-level…that is, if you believe them.

But here’s the thing: they’re totally exaggerating. (Like, almost to the point of “Hmm…that’s a big old whopper you’re feeding us, there, O Wise Counselor”.) And I get it—they need to do this, in order to make you ponder long and hard how much you’re willing to take on in big, bad High School. All I can say is, thank goodness Riley has Derek to be the voice of reason (Ha! I know, that seems…unlikely. Okay, how about “the voice of one who’s gone before and can tell you how it reeeally is." Better?) and reassure him that it’s not nearly as...dramatic...as they make it out to be. The bottom line is: sure, you’ll have tons of homework some nights, but others you’ll have less, and occasionally you’ll have little, or even none. As is so often true, as long as you manage your time and stay on top of things, you’ll be fine—and my kid who already uses a whiteboard to keep track of his assignments and soccer practices…doesn’t worry me AT ALL in that area.

The thing that cracks me up, though, is that waaaay back when I was 13 and preparing to enter the High School fray, I swear I got the Exact. Same. Spiel. So I sat there listening to “it’ll be very demanding, you’ll have to commit to working extremely hard, take some time to think about whether Honors classes are actually right for you, blah blah blah” and inside, I went, “Pffttt, whatever. You’re not frightening me, Counselor-person. I’m onto you—see what I have in my hand, here? It’s a big old grain of salt” (As in,”I’m taking your advice with…” Oh, never mind…perhaps I’m just waiting for someone to bring me a margarita…) 

Because, you see, I learned my own lesson when I went through this process. Yep, I swallowed the warning hook, line, and sinker, became concerned that I couldn’t handle a schedule full of Honors courses, and opted to step down a level in what I considered my weakest subject…Science.

WELL! How did that turn out, you might wonder? Let’s put it this way: to call that a “mistake” would be a colossal understatement, which became painfully obvious within the first few days of class, when the pace and complexity of the work—so different from what I was used to and what felt comfortable to me--demonstrated that this was N-O-T where I belonged. 

Don’t get me wrong, the teacher, the students, and the material were all completely swell…just not the right…intensity…for me, personally. Therefore I went straight to my Guidance Counselor and pleaded my case to switch into a more appropriate class. And even with my track record and impassioned argument, they gave me what I judged to be a ridiculously hard time, before relenting and allowing me to make the change. So if I can use my experience to prevent my son from having to deal with this kind of…nonsense...all the better!

The reality is that for 9^th grade, you’ve got your required English, Math, Social Studies and Science—with a small bit of leeway within some of those categories…but it’s easy enough just to follow the recommended sequence and be done with it. Then there's the mandatory year of PE, so everyone tends to get that out of the way right off the bat. (Ha! Sorry…) Riley will continue with Spanish (yaaaay!), which then leaves only one slot to fill. Many kids elect to drop in a Study Period, which we found to benefit Derek, in terms of giving him extra reading/study for tests/homework flexibility, so we encouraged Riley to go ahead and do that as well. 

Aaannnd…BOOM! That looks like a Freshman year schedule, y’all! Oh, and the part at the bottom of the form, where they require a parent’s signature if you’re registering for 3 or more Honors classes? Yeah, pass me the pen and I’ll take care of that….

5 kilometers...of torture!

Team WestEnders rolled the meteorological dice and decided to run a local 5K this past December--and afterwards heaped praise upon the benevolent Weather Gods for bestowing a damp, 50-ish, overcast day for the event, rather than the frigid, windy, or rainy alternatives one could reasonably expect at that time of year. Figuring that we'd pressed our luck quite enough, we then came to the mutual agreement that we'd take the cautious route, and not register for anything outdoorsy in January or February, since our (admittedly limited, but so-far reliable) experience thus far has shown that Spring tends to arrive in North Carolina around March 1st.

However, that resolution of sorts quickly was tossed out the window...at least for me...as the fresh-air fitness group I recently joined invited its members to participate together in a longstanding 5K that happens in Raleigh each year...in February. When I heard this, my immediate reaction was something along the lines of, "Oh, why the heck not!" Even if conditions were less-than-favorable, I rationalized, being there with a posse would make it more fun...and that length of course generally takes me less than a half-hour, anyway, so how bad could it be?

Oh, be careful what you ask, my friends, because the answer to that rhetorical question turned out to be: "pretty doggone tough"...as my personal race was beset by a perfect storm of factors causing it to...well..."suck", if you will. Let me explain: first of all, Winter seemingly up and vamoosed waaaaaay early this year...and race day--believe it or not--developed into a blazingly sunny...blustery...near-80* spectacle. Now, don't get me wrong, I do loooove me some balmy temperatures...but I kind of prefer a LITTLE transition time to adapt, rather than out-of-the-blue Summertime, when I'm gonna run 3.1 miles. (And really, is that too much to hope for? I didn't think so...)

And I mentioned the WIND, right? To be clear, I'm not talking about some light breezes that gently caress your skin while you blithely trot around the track, soaking up your Vitamin D (or, you know, having it scorched into your super-pale Irish hide, or whatever). Nope...more like "gusts powerful enough to force a me-sized woman to duck her head and push back to maintain forward progress. Can I just say: "Yippee! What a freakin' HOOT..." To add to the...festivities...the path itself proved to be one of the hilliest I've yet competed on (using that term extremely loosely, since my goals for these activities usually include such lofty items as "finish" and "don't be dead last, if at all possible").

Finally, in an attempt to ameliorate the delightful knee pain I've recently been dealing with, I'd bought a fresh pair of cushy kicks a few days prior to the race. They felt super-squish-ily-comfortable in the store, but I hadn't had time to test them out on actual pavement-type material, meaning that they were a bit of a wild card as I waited at the starting line. And--I suspect fellow runners will understand this--the first time you wear a brand new set of sneakers, no matter how nice they are, the workout isn't going to be perfect. It's hard to describe...the best I can tell you is that while the shoes may fit properly and do their job, there's something about needing your feet to mold to them, or experimenting to get the laces exactly right, that makes them seem just a wee bit...not-yet-quite-right.

Oh! I almost forgot one last thing: this particular 5K began at 2 p.m., rather than the usual 8 or 9 in the morning. (I guess they expect, in a typical February, to wake up to sub-zero on the thermometer, and want to give it time to warm up, so people aren't standing around with frostbitten toes and such...as opposed to this year, when most of us were probably seriously considering whether they should run back to the car and dig out the sunscreen to avoid a pink nose. Ha! The "best laid plans"...and whatnot...) Because of this, I'd eaten breakfast as usual...but procrastinated about having anything else. You see, my stomach likes to be as empty as possible when I go trotting around, so the bottom line is that I never did get around to fueling up, and eventually forgot...until the hollow emptiness in the region of my midsection let out an enormous starving gurgle...just as they were calling everyone to get assembled....and it was too late.

So I suppose it shouldn't have been a great surprise--or even really much of a disappointment--that I managed my SLOWEST 5K of all time. How awful was it? I even had to concede to walking a couple of times, when, from the bottom of one of those aforementioned inclines, I gazed upward and my legs made the executive decision for me, "Uh-uh! Not having it! No way!" (You've heard of PRs? Well, this was my...PW...which is totally NOT a thing, because who'd want to remember that kind of stat, anyway? But I digress....)

However, with all that being said...I did complete the darn thing...and I most certainly didn't straggle in at the end. (In fact, I witnessed more people stopping and strolling than I've ever seen at one of these, so it wasn't just me feeling the literal and/or metaphorical "burn"...) Even better, when I got home and checked the results (because no matter how terrible it might have seemed...yes, I AM that compulsive) I discovered that my tortoise-like 30:35 was good enough for 266th in a field of 579...and 13th out of 37 in my age group.

Frankly, this was soooo much better than I expected--therefore, even though the activity itself couldn't be called "enjoyable" by any stretch of the imagination, I'm gonna go ahead and put it in the WIN column nevertheless. And most likely chalk this one up to "been there, done that" and thus "never to be repeated". That'll teach me to sign up for a 5K in February, yeah?

Breezing Through Charleston...

For some reason known only to the Powers That Be...In Charge and Whatnot...our school system elected not to observe President's Day this year, and so deprived the students of their usual 3-day respite from the academic rat race. Now, this wouldn't normally have been too big a deal...except that Riley's soccer coach entered the team in a tournament...in Charleston, SC, with games on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh well, so much for "restful and relaxing time off", yeah?

More so than with a local event, this involved some logistical considerations. For example, whether to leave the older brother at home alone (which to this point has never been done before, so it poses a bit of a parental dilemma) or drag him along for very special Family Togetherness Time. In all honesty, I'm sure...pretty sure...say, 85-90% sure...Derek would have been fine on his own. But I, personally, just wasn't completely ready to abandon him to fend for himself this time (maybe in May--when the next out-of-town tournament comes up--I'll feel differently. Check back later...).

Then there was the fact that--as much as I love watching my son play--my soccer threshold definitely has an upper limit. To be specific: two games in a weekend is hunky-dory; three is pushing it. Besides, there would be shuttling back and forth to the fields, and the Male Trio would be attending an exhibition MLS match as part of the team's bonding experience...all of which is to explain why I lobbied for it to be a two-car operation. That way Husband and Riley could head down on Friday night, with Derek and me joining them for the second contest on Saturday afternoon.

With all that being worked out, we bid the early delegation of Team WestEnders farewell on Friday when Riley arrived home from school. Then Derek and I packed ourselves up first thing Saturday morning and hit the road as well. Husband had texted me about a nasty construction zone they encountered--which had proved both slow and annoying the night before--and provided a suggested alternative route to avoid the problem. Armed with this information, we set out on roads that were much more rural than the 95 South corridor I'd originally planned to take. As such, it was most assuredly more scenic, but also had its share of irritants, such as stoplights...pokey drivers impeding our progress on 2-lane byways...and a distinct lack of viable outposts where a gluten-free vegan could obtain acceptable sustenance.

Despite all these...minor obstacles...we managed to make it just in time for kickoff--so I'm gonna go ahead and call that a Travel Win. After the action on the pitch wrapped up (a hard-fought contest, but resulting in a 2-1 loss for Riley's squad), we all caravan-ed to the hotel, to get cleaned up and prepared for the evening's agenda. For the guys, this meant the aforementioned Bonus Soccer; as for me, I opted to spend a couple of my free hours driving into the city and exploring on foot, since I can't even remember how long it's been since the last time I visited Charleston. Therefore I parked my car near the waterfront (which was admittedly difficult to appreciate since it was, you know, DARK by this time, but whatever) and strolled up and down King Street, through the bustling retail district.

I don't know if it was the holiday weekend, or the balmy temperatures, but the town was absolutely hoppin'--a constant stream of people wandering in and out of the many stores, restaurants, and pubs. There were families juggling ice cream cones (yes, in February--I wasn't exaggerating about how mild the weather was), couples enjoying their date nights, groups of friends discussing where to eat or hang out, packs of uniformed students (I had forgotten that Charleston is home to the Citadel) walking along and quietly chatting in an impressively polite and dignified manner. All-in-all, it was the perfect people-watching and window-shopping extravaganza.

Back at Comfort Suites HQ, the group consensus was to turn in on the early side, since Riley's Sunday game was scheduled for 8 a.m. (meaning their coach wants them at the field for warmups at 7:30...all together now: "Ugh". And by the way, what sort of borderline-sadist makes these arrangements? Oh, right...some people actually are naturally "early risers"...or, as I like to call them..."weirdos"....but that may just be the severe coffee-deprivation talking...)

So in the morning (far too soon, if you ask me) we hauled ourselves out of bed...to witness 3 police cars out front...and a body being removed from the premises on a stretcher. (SEE? It just goes to show you that nothing good happens at that time of the day. Sheesh.) Anyway, after a hasty breakfast (or in my case, cup of java) Derek and I joined the rest of the fam at the field for the conclusion of the sports portion of our getaway. It was already sunny, warm, and gorgeous, so when the final whistle blew, we formulated a scheme to venture into Charleston one more time for lunch and a scenic tour of the market and harbor area. (The understandably exhausted Riley took a little coaxing, but the prospect of being FED finally convinced him....barely...)

We had ruled out an excursion to Fort Sumter--although I was definitely interested--because it required a boat ride...and a time commitment we just couldn't afford on this whirlwind adventure. Instead we browsed the open-air market, filled with stalls selling a dizzying array of items--from fresh flowers to artwork to cheesy souvenir t-shirts to jewelry to handcrafted one-of-a-kind home decor. Then, after at least making a token effort to stop by and admire the water, we realized we'd better drop everything else and focus on getting Riley some food, since he was noticeably flagging by this point.

Typically we struggle with finding a place that both meets (my) dietary requirements AND is also appetizing to all four of us...but this time Husband went straight to Google and in a remarkably short while pulled up an eatery that sounded intriguing to everyone. The Brown Dog Deli offered plenty of meat-based sandwiches for the carnivores, as well as entire sections of the menu devoted to vegetarian and vegan dishes (and gluten-free bread, if one needed it). Sold!

When we got there they told us there'd be about a 20-minute wait--which turned out to be much less, so we were glad we stuck it out...especially when our delicious meals were placed in front of us. Can I just say: YUMMMM. It wasn't just me, either: everyone's palates were pleased, and their stomachs satisfied, with their choices. And looking back, I think fortune must have been favoring us when we stumbled upon this cute little cafe, since the line for a table had grown until it extended out the door and down the sidewalk, by the time we were finished and leaving. (Whew!)

After that, there was nothing left to do but get back in the car...AGAIN...and navigate northward. It had been a fun--albeit jam-packed and tiring--jaunt, and 3/4 of our crew had to return to work...and the hallowed halls of learning...on Washington and Lincoln's Day. Oh, that's right--did I neglect to mention that I was the ONLY one who actually got to take advantage of the recovery Monday? Yep, lucky me! (Okay, we all know that in reality this simply means more time for errands and chores--but since I was also able to squeeze in a NAP, it's all good!)

So all that's left to say is: "Is it time for another couple of days off, yet?" Because I suspect it's gonna feel like a looooong week...but here we go!

Valentine's Day...untraditionally...

I'm sure for many people (although I'm not actually sure if I know any of them) Valentine's Day is all about romance, wine, roses...and whatnot. It might have been that way around here, back when Team WestEnders consisted of just Husband and me--honestly that time is so far in the past, it's pretty murky, so I'm not sure--but it certainly is NOT the case these days.

Now, don't get me wrong, we haven't given up and spurned the whole sugar-driven holiday in its entirety. For example, we still try to find cards--for everyone in the family. But let me tell ya, the selection of stuff offered by Hallmark and the like seems to me to include only three genres: the cringe-worthy risque...the groan-inducing...and the nauseatingly sappy. Since I shuddered at most of the inappropriately racy ones...and I simply don't DO drippy...that left me with only one option...buy horribly punny tokens of my affection for all of my boys. (Even with this having been decided, I still had to stand in front of the display for a good--or painful, depending on how you look at it--20 minutes before finally selecting what I considered the "least awful". Nice sentiment for a Day of Love, yeah? Thanks so much, greeting card companies...)

Oh well, I shouldn't have worried, because apparently the guys ran into the same issue, as demonstrated by the one Derek and Riley chose for me (above and at right). Ay yi yi, am I right?

Anyway, the other--frankly much more important, if you ask me--element of honoring your sweethearts is of course the giving and receiving of...CHOCOLATE. Or, in Husband's case, Good & Plenties, since the man just has an inexplicable, weird preference for the the wax-coated licorice over the good stuff. Eh, more creamy cocoa deliciousness for ME, I always say...except this year he sheepishly confessed that, with all the things I'm avoiding in my diet, he wasn't sure what I could actually have, so he didn't risk buying something I couldn't eat. Siiiighhh...guess I'm responsible for my own fix this year. (However, he has been duly instructed that both Whole Foods and Weaver Street Market carry an organic, 70% dark chocolate bar that is free of bad stuff, so in the future he won't run into this problem again--no excuses!)

As for the kids, I strolled the candy aisle at Target to forage for treats. They're both old enough to have officially grown out of the "cutesy stuffed animals holding sweets" phase, yet when I spotted an adorable frog-shaped tin filled with goodies, I couldn't resist. You see, Riley has always loved frogs, and is juuuust sentimental enough to enjoy the fact that he can keep the container afterwards and fill it with--I don't know, school supplies or something practical. That's how I rationalized it, anyway, and as it turns out, I was right, because he must have thanked me 5 separate times and told me how much he liked it. (Win!)

Derek's reaction, on the other hand, was equally as priceless...in a verrry different way. Upon seeing Riley's gift, he mock-indignantly exclaimed, "Hey! How come MY chocolate didn't come packed in the shape of MY favorite animal?" Um...let's see...perhaps it's due to the fact that I don't have a clue what that might be? Or that you even had a preferred creature? Oh, or possibly because you're almost 17 and I know you couldn't care less? (Yeah, that's the one...) But since he'd piqued my curiosity, I asked to which member of the wild kingdom he was referring. "Grizzly bear," he stated emphatically, and then hastened to add, "but I'm talking about the kind that stands in the middle of the stream and catches salmon with its paws!" (Ha! As if I would think he meant any other type...puh-leez...)

And--knowing my son as I do--I totally get why he identifies with...a fuzzy carnivore. However, I also had to break it to him gently that the only kind of...ursine representation...he was gonna get in the "hearts and flowers" section of the store was the grizzly's FAR less fierce cousin..."Ted E. Bear". He nodded thoughtfully and accepted this with good grace, appreciating the sports-themed array I'd picked out just for him.

Then when I finally got around to opening my cards from Husband at dinner time, he was quite pleased with himself over this one:

Granted, it falls in that "silly-cute" category, so it was definitely what I expect from him...and also suspiciously familiar...since (and I almost hated to break this to him)...one of us has bought this exact same card before. Far from being chagrined, though, he brightly enthused, "See? I knew it was a good one!"

But Derek had the final zinger of Valentine's Day 2016, as he piped up in a droll tone, "Isn't that what marriage IS? Recycling old crap all the time and pretending it's new again?" Excuse me for a moment ...mwahahahahahahaha! Well spoken, grasshopper. (And also Memo to Me: lecture that attitude right on out of him before he tries to date..) Now I'll have to be going....to hunt down some chocolate I can devour !

Stuff...and nonsense!

After the recent bout of...water-related shenanigans...Team WestEnders enjoyed a relatively quiet, business-as-usual work and school week. In fact, the only truly notable topic, believe it or not, was: the weather. You see, this is our third Winter in Chapel Hill, and to be honest--even though it's definitely still my least-favorite season--there's really been nothing to complain about, in my opinion. The pattern we've observed so far has been that it tends to get frosty overnight, but then the mercury rises to around 50 during the day. This is punctuated by mercifully brief spells of frigidity, sometimes with a snow and/or ice storm mixed in, just to shake things up a bit and keep it fresh (or whatever). In a nutshell: all perfectly deal-able, yeah?

So up to this point I had never understood why people kept ruefully describing the last few Winters as "unusually cold" (often delivered with an violent shiver, for emphasis) when I, personally, felt like conditions in the Great Outdoors had been just dandy, thankyouverymuch. But now...I think I finally GET it. This year, outside of one white, flaky interlude, we've been gifted with mild temperatures that, at times, teetered into the territory of "downright balmy".

What're we actually talking about, here? Multiple 60-and-70 degree days, causing crazy sights such as...folks jogging and biking in shorts...ladies sporting flip-flops...and me, showing up at Riley's soccer game in just a sweatshirt and windpants, rather than multiple layers of fleece, a coat and gloves. All I can say is, if this is what December, January, and February are supposed to be like, I'm not going to go as far as to become a FAN, per se, but let's just say I'm likely to be much more kindly disposed toward Old Man Winter in the future.

Okay, speaking of soccer, I'll tackle (ha!) that next. In the Fall, still rehabbing from the broken tibia, Riley played off the bench, and probably averaged about half of each game on the field. Last weekend in the tournament--which represented his team's first action of the Spring campaign--it appeared from the sidelines as though he'd returned to full strength and speed...which was a very nice thing to observe. His coach must have agreed, since he started Riley at center back today, and left him in for all 70 minutes (more on that in a second).

The match itself was a nail-biter throughout the first half...then rapidly degenerated into frustrated, overly-aggressive, out-of-control physical behavior by the opposing squad (pushing, grabbing, tripping...oh, and "mouthing off"--you get the picture. It was generally unsportsmanlike garbage...a certain amount of which you can normally get away with, to be sure,...especially if it's not caught...but these antics went just a WEE bit over the line, if you will...).

On the one hand, this was kind of nerve-wracking to watch, as a parent...but I'm not gonna lie, it also provided some cheap thrills, resulting as it did in 4 penalty cards being issued--3 yellow and 1 red (which means that player is ejected)...more than I've ever seen happen in one contest, in all the years the boys have been participating in the Beautiful Game. The skirmish eventually ended in a 0-0 draw--not tremendously satisfying, but given the possible alternatives, could have definitely been much worse. Far more rewarding for our family: coach named Riley the MVP for the day, based on his contributions on the pitch. (Yaaayyy, buddy! That's my baby...sniffle...)

And while we're on the subject of my youngest child, who's suddenly growing up--literally AND figuratively--entirely too fast, I can also report that he just reached another milestone in his young life. Ready for this? He's decided it's time...to begin shaving. (I KNOW, right? Ay yi yi...) Don't get me wrong, it's not like we haven't seen this coming. I mean, the kid's had a visible mustache going on for a while now--all the more noticeable because of his dark hair--and recently added some sideburns to the picture.

Therefore I'd been asking him on a regular basis whether he wanted to start the face-scraping routine, but his answer continued to be "No, it's not bothering me yet." Then I came home from an errand today to find out from Derek that Husband had driven Riley to Target...to pick up an electric razor. WELL! I guess it suddenly became annoying and had to be addressed immediately. (Which is soooo characteristically Riley...I can't imagine where he gets that impatience and impulsiveness from...Shhhh! No comments from the Peanut Gallery! Oh, and also: Awww! How cute with the Father/Son...bonding over personal grooming...and whatnot...)

Now I suppose there will be some kind of tutorial demonstration to instruct the young grasshopper in the proper wielding of the stubble-removing device--which has absolutely nothing to do with me, and which I will thus take great pains to avoid, like the...Male Plague. (Hmm....perhaps I'll hide somewhere in the house with a cup of tea and a magazine, and claim I'm doing "super-secret girly things". That usually succeeds in scaring the Y-chromosome crowd away so I get some cherished Me-Time...snicker...)

And with that, we're brought up-to-date on all Team WestEnders happenings. Riiiight...until tomorrow, when the daytime high might reach 75...and it's Husband's turn to chauffeur Riley to yet another soccer event...and I'm running a 5K in Raleigh...and, who knows, there might be...shaving lessons. Maybe I should go prepare my "retreat setup" now, just in case! Ta ta!

Raleigh, Interrupted...

So, the first part of Team WestEnders’ historic exodus…to Raleigh…came off without a hitch. I mean, how difficult can it possibly be to chuck a few items into a bag--for a journey of 30 miles, that’s going to last approximately 24 hours? (Keep this thought in mind, however, as it will come back to bite us in the patootie later in the story. Yep, that’s foreshadowing, y’all…are you proud of me for utilizing a literary device? Or have I just been spending too much time discussing homework with my Middle and High School sons? Yeeeaaaah, that sounds about right…)

I have to admit it was a little bit weird…and somewhat disorienting…to stay in a hotel this close to home. For example, we were within shouting distance of PNC Arena, where the Carolina Hurricanes hockey team plays, so the lobby was decorated in club colors, and displayed framed jerseys and other related memorabilia. Initially we were like, "Hey, we recognize that stuff!" Which was quickly followed by a sheepish, "Oh, right...never mind..." It made me more aware of the fact that typically when we travel, I’m paying attention to my physical surroundings, as well as the other vacationers, looking for anything interesting or unusual or otherwise noteworthy. But this time it was like we never left…literally!

Anyway, when we arrived after our arduous 35-minute trek (ha!), the first order of business was obviously SHOWERS. Everyone luxuriated in the free-flowing water, the incomparable feeling of being squeaky clean, and the joy of donning fresh clothing. Thus rejuvenated, we had the energy to face down our (by-now-familiar) dilemma of the evening: where to dine. It was the unavoidable debate—how to feed both a pack of carnivores…and one gluten-free vegan…in the same venue.

A little bit of searching on the Internet yielded a couple of promising options in the city…for ME, anyway…but they sounded just a bit too…hmm, how would Derek put this…”hippie fried tofu” for the guys. So I went with the most mainstream path, a Mexican-themed café whose menu had at least one thing I could eat. However, it turned out to be a muy popular Saturday night destination, as we found out when we showed up, crammed ourselves into the packed lobby, and were told it would be a 45-minute wait for a table. Um, no…gracias. Adios…

The backup plan involved one of those crunchy-granola joints I previously alluded to…but I was hoping that everyone was hungry enough by now to just go with it and not give me any guff. I think it helped that the Remedy Diner was located in the heart of downtown Raleigh, so we got to drive right by the capital building on our way, which was super-cool. And...how to describe the place itself? Quirky…funky…cute all sprang to mind as we walked in the front door. Or, as they are fond of saying on HGTV, "It was full of charm and character"--with features like eclectic artwork all over the walls, a handful of red vinyl booths, a wooden bar taking up the rest of the space, and a small pass-through window where the food appeared for delivery.

But the absolute best part as far as I was concerned was that, for ONCE, there was a small section of the menu devoted to sandwiches made from meat, and the REST of the offerings were vegetarian or vegan. Plus they made gluten-free bread available, for no additional cost. Nirvana, I tell ya! It was a novel concept for me to actually be able to make a choice among several delicious-sounding selections—I ended up going with the Reuben, made with tempeh in place of corned beef…since I used to order these All. The.Time. before going veg, and hadn’t had one since then (that would be “2008” for anyone who’s curious)! Happily, everyone was pleased with their meal, so it was an unqualified success, I’d have to say.

We then returned to our slightly-out-of-town HQ to rest up, as the next day we planned to do some touristy things in Raleigh before heading back to Chapel Hill...by which time we hoped the H2O issues would have been resolved. Some of our ideas included walking around the campus of NC State (not that Derek’s expressed interest in this particular university, but it’s here…and so are we…so it seems silly not to at least give it a quick stroll), taking in a museum, and/or meandering the area around the State House.

The next morning dawned overcast and damp, as if it had rained overnight—but the clouds quickly dispersed, giving way to a bright, sunny, mild day. In short, it looked picture-perfect for sightseeing. I made my way to the lobby to check out the coffee situation, and quickly discovered—not unexpectedly—that the breakfast buffet contained nothing that was friendly to my dietary constraints. And since we’d flown the coop so suddenly, I had forgotten to grab anything from my stash; therefore I went out in search of a store before anyone else was stirring in our room.

When I returned (triumphantly waving Kind breakfast bars) I found that the Male Posse had emerged for sustenance. While Derek and Riley were industriously tucking away eggs and bacon, however, Husband sat in front of a plate of barely-nibbled toast…and wore a decidedly greenish countenance. Aaaannnd, speaking of vacating the premises without one’s supplies: he had a migraine…and had left his meds in the pantry (where they obviously were...less-than-effective...siiiiighhh...) 

Oh well, so much for the day’s fabulous agenda. Of course, we can go back to Raleigh any time we darn well please, since it’s practically right around the corner--so it’s not a major deal…just a minor bummer. On the plus side, though, shortly thereafter we received a notification that the water had been deemed safe, the restrictions had been lifted, and it was permissible to resume normal consumption. So we turned around and headed back to Casa WestEnders, where upon arrival the very first thing Riley announced was that he had to pee…and he was going to flush the toilet… just because he could. Another reminder that it’s the little things that matter most, yeah? I’ll drink to that…(perhaps a nice, tall glass of agua--ha!)

Water, Water...Nowhere..

Living in a developed nation, in a well-established community with all the modern amenities one could ever want is something I probably don't take the time to appreciate often enough. That is, until one of those taken-for-granted perks is abruptly snatched away, throwing our lives into somewhat of an uproar. For example, we're about 24-hours into what I'm going to call the Great Chapel Hill-Carrboro Water Crisis of 2017--which in a nutshell means we've essentially been entirely banned from using the liquid resource since yesterday morning.

But let me back up the timeline and explain from the beginning. It was Thursday, I think, when the first communication came from our local water and sewer provider (OWASA, for short), informing us that there had been an "accidental over-fluoridation" of the supply, necessitating that they temporarily pump water to our area from Durham, and asking that we be mindful of conserving water in the short-term until the issue was resolved. Well, this didn't seem like too big a deal, and I don't think our household earns the title of "water hogs" anyway, so it's all good, right?

Then on Friday the frantic texts, emails, and phone calls began to arrive at frequent intervals, announcing a water main break on top of the previous problems...and prohibiting all water consumption immediately and for an undisclosed period of time until they could make repairs, resume functioning at the local treatment plant, and restore the severely-depleted reserves. Oh...kay...this was sounding a whole lot more dire, all of a sudden. This was followed instantly by messages from the district and both of the boys' individual schools, letting us know that they'd be sending students home 2 hours early due to the restrictions.

The reactions from our crew varied: when Riley arrived back at Casa WestEnders he scoffed, "That seems ridiculous--why couldn't they just tell us not to wash our hands or go to the bathroom?" Um...sweetie? You're thinking like a logical adolescent--but YOU try telling elementary-age kiddos they can't pee for the rest of the day. That's like a...munchkin horror flick, just waiting to happen...) At Derek's school, however, the administration apparently came over the PA system and advised that "anyone who is able to leave right now....has permission to do so", with the unspoken implication being: "please get out, all of you, as soon as possible". (Ahhhh, the freedom of High School....never fails to crack me up...)

Meanwhile, I had taken the opportunity on my day off to escape to a movie for a couple of hours, but fortunately I had selected the theater right next to Target, so my next step after exiting La La Land was to rush over there and grab packaged water...along with the rest of humanity. Although it looked like they were rapidly running out already, I managed to snag 3 cases of 16-ounce bottles, thinking that this whole fiasco would be short-lived, and that would certainly be enough to see us through until the do-not-use order was lifted.

And then, over the course of the afternoon and evening...the reality of the situation began to develop. For instance, Derek and his friends decided not to play basketball--or do any other outdoor activities--because they'd get dirty and sweaty, and not be able to shower afterwards. Everyday tasks like brushing teeth and rinsing out dishes required bottled water....which makes you notice how MUCH it takes...which makes you want to save it even more diligently as you watch your hard-won supply deplete, little by little, as you pour it down the drain.

And do NOT even get me started on the whole...toilet...conundrum. Obviously you don't want to flush every time, but we actually had a discussion in our house about how often it would be advisable to...um...clear the bowl, as it were. "Oh, just spray some more Febreeze in there," Husband airily (ha! sorry...) said. Yeeeahhh....as the only one who possesses a sensitive girl-nose in this family, let me just tell you what that accomplishes...you ready?...a bathroom that reeks of "orange-scented-pee." Trust me when I say to you that it's NOT an improvement over the original version.

Thus Friday night's...hygiene, if you will...consisted of judiciously applying baby wipes to those areas that needed them...and changing into fresh clothes. By Saturday morning I was ready for a change of scenery--so I took myself to a Starbucks--outside of our little H2O-less area, of course--for coffee...and a bathroom where you don't have to stop and agonize over whether you should pull the lever or not. About that time, Husband's cousin, who also lives just over the border in Durham, checked in to offer her...ahem..."facilities" if we needed to get cleaned up. However, I was rapidly losing patience with the whole mess, when a brainstorm struck: what if we just...blew town for the night while the Governmental Powers That Be sorted it all out?

And with that, we voted to create our own mini-adventure, by overnighting in our lovely capital city of Raleigh and sightseeing for a while on Sunday (since I was the only one--naturally--who'd ever done any exploring there in our 2-1/2 years as NC residents). As we were packing for our getaway-of-sorts, the latest news arrived from OWASA...proclaiming that the water was now safe to drink...but urging continued caution, with the available supply still being limited. One of their helpful suggestions for how to manage this included: taking less-than-3-minute showers...and that's when I gave up and stopped reading, because I don't even know how that's possible. Therefore the original scheme for fleeing the vicinity proceeded as planned.

So to reflect a little bit: it was undoubtedly an unpleasant and inconvenient interlude. But...it occurred to me over the course of its unfolding...how LUCKY are we, in so many ways? We have a car, and (normally) well-stocked stores nearby...and the money to purchase emergency provisions when we get there. For the vast majority of the time, we enjoy access to clean, safe, plentiful water. We have reliable plumbing in our house, and publicly-provided utility companies to monitor and maintain the infrastructure. Not to mention the means to run away from it all if we so desire. And for all of these things, I am overflowing (ha! sorry...) with gratitude...from our hotel room...in which we have all showered (yay) in preparation for embarking on a dinner quest. For now, signing off from Team WestEnders' temporary HQ!