Low-Key Memorial Day

Ah, Memorial Day weekend...when a festive, Summertime mood overtakes people, and they spend their time enjoying picnics, pool outings, barbecuing, and all sorts of outdoor activities with their families. And we here at Team WestEnders are no different...oh, wait a minute...we actually did...um...NONE of those things. So, how did we pass our 3-day mini-vacation?

Well, let’s see...Saturday I barely caught a glimpse of the boys, as each of them hung out with their respective friend groups. Riley went to his Middle School (I know! On a day he didn't have to!) to use the field for a pickup soccer game with some of his buddies. Derek joined one of his pals to watch the televised Carolina Courage contest--since, you know, they consider themselves such HUGE fans of the new women's professional soccer squad in our area. (In all seriousness, they did attend the team's inaugural home match...and they each bought a t-shirt. So I guess that counts...) He popped back in long enough to inform us that his posse had hatched a dinner scheme: to make use of the fundraising coupon books they'd all bought (sold to support the High School baseball team, by their friend who's a player) by picking and patronizing one of the participating eateries.

Okay, then--one day down! Sunday began with church for me and the kids, after which we’ve made it a habit to take care of any errands that make sense, based on the proximity of certain stores in the area. In this case, since Husband's birthday always falls on or around this particular holiday, they wanted to pick up his gift—the idea for which, amusingly, he'd shared with them, rather than me...perhaps because it involved a trip to a home improvement emporium? Yeah…male solidarity at its finest....however, I ended up driving them there, since Lowe's is literally across the street from our church. And amidst all the extravagant, complex, endless variety of items available at such an establishment, what did he request, you might wonder? Just a longer garden hose, so he can water the flowers he planted down by the mailbox, at the end of our steep driveway. Ha! All gender stereotypes aside, I helped the boys locate the correct department and identify an appropriate, affordable option—so there!

While we were already out, we were also passing by the place where Derek and Riley usually get their haircuts. They had originally planned to go out by themselves and do this without parental accompaniment, since as Derek said, “That was fun last time; can we do that again?” I’d readily agreed…since they’d passed the test by returning with completely normal ‘dos when left to their own devices…but again, the opportunity to just get it over with was too good to pass up. (And…would you believe there was NO WAIT?! Honestly, you can’t beat that…)

Then, for even more entertainment…they got to go (are you ready for this?) shopping for shoes! Oh, right, they’re teenage dudes…this isn’t the biggest thrill for them. Apparently, though, it IS for Husband, who upon finding out that I intended to shuttle them to the outlet mall to replace some of their worn-out footwear, eagerly asked if he could come. Um…whyyyyy? “Because I never get to go shopping!” he responded. Well, if you’re that enthusiastic about the trip…YOU take them! I mean, this is not an all-hands-on-deck, two-parent operation, here. I did catch him gleefully commenting to his sons, “Mom’s turning us loose in the outlets….without supervision!” Then he chortled, “We can do some damage, boys!” “HEY,” I called from the living room, where he hadn’t noticed me sitting, “I heard that! And by the way, you ARE the supervision, genius!” I believe his reply was, “Doh!” but I’m really not sure he was suitably chagrined….

As they piled into the car to leave, I felt it prudent to remind him, “Use your best judgement…and make them stick to a budget!” He simply grinned slyly at me as he rolled up his window and claimed, “What? I didn’t catch that over the radio!” Siiigghhhhhh…fortunately, my Voice of Reason—also known as Riley—was part of the retail run. I knew I could rest assured that at least ONE of them would be cost-conscious…especially since Riley was the one who’d adamantly insisted he didn’t need us to waste money on any new footwear for him…even as I held up one of his sneakers and pointed out the strips of rubber that were peeling away from the soles.

After their successful sojourn (in which they selected very nice shoes…and most importantly didn’t break the bank in the process), believe it or not there was one more bit of family bonding on the agenda: a birthday dinner. Now, we’re pretty backed up on this, with three of our birthdays falling within a month of each other. So technically, it could have been Derek’s, Husband’s, or my choice. We gave Derek first pick, but he immediately passed it off, stating that he didn’t want to be responsible for the venue this time. That left me next, and I already knew where I wanted to go: the Chopt salad restaurant that just opened near us. True, the Male Trio might have rolled their eyes a bit…or groaned softly under their breath…but they gamely agreed to give it a shot, for me. And while it obviously wouldn’t have been their first (or 10^th) selection, they were pleased enough with their meals…if not entirely stuffed afterwards.

Finally, our bonus day off, in which we actually seemed to have a stretch of free hours in which none of us could think of any obligations we needed to fulfill, whatsoever. So, with no place to go, and nothing to do, we could concoct, at the very least, an entertaining afternoon, yeah? Sure! Except that Riley woke up with some kind of…respiratory plague…and his labored breathing and copious coughing put the kibosh on any rambunctious endeavors. Instead, everyone took a more leisurely approach to the day—admittedly, it might not have been super-exciting, but we all still appreciated the fact that we weren’t at work or in a classroom! Oh, and since Husband’s not so much a “cake guy”, I baked (gluten free, but absolutely the best such mix I’ve yet discovered) chocolate chip cookies for his birthday treat. 

So, R&R...and sweets….make for a delightful end to a long weekend, wouldn’t you say? Tomorrow it’s back to business…while various members of Team WestEnders will be sporting fresh haircuts…showing off new shoes…testing out an upgraded hose… sneaking leftover cookies—and trying to cure Riley of his miserable malady. Looks like it’s gonna be busy…I’d better go get some sleep!

Say it with me: Two. More. Weeks...

Whew, folks! After last week's--and weekend's-- full agenda of festivities...and whatnot....life around Casa WestEnders quieted down and returned to more of "the usual", which was a welcome relief. Now we're on the cusp of Memorial Day, which around here means that another school year is careening toward its close. I'm never 100% sure what to expect in late May/early June, because it seems like each step on the academic ladder is different, but I'm here to tell you, the waning days of the 2016/17 academic term have touched off verrrrry different reactions from the minors in our household.

Let's start with Derek, who reports that his classes have become fairly chill, with no new concepts being taught as teachers review previous material and prepare students for end-of-grade exams. This also translates to "very little nightly homework", and therefore "more leisure time than usual". Sounds pretty nice, huh? In some cases it's even more extreme, like A.P. courses, whose tests have already occurred. Derek took A.P. Biology this year, with a 2-period block for lecture and lab, which finished up with the nationwide testing date on May 5th, leaving them to do...absolutely nothing for a month. Add to that the fact that in his daily schedule, this chunk is adjacent to his Study Period, and you have a great big black hole of GOOFING OFF in the middle of his day.

When I heard about all this free time he'd be enjoying, I did mention that he might consider putting it to good use--by researching potentially interesting colleges and lining up tours, perhaps? And he does still have regular finals to study for, so I assume he's not sitting in school twiddling his thumbs (or the modern-day adolescent boy equivalent: watching YouTube videos or ESPN sports highlights)...at least not all day, every day, anyway. I keep telling myself it could be worse: some of his friends who have their own cars and drive themselves to school get to LEAVE in the middle of the day when they have empty hours, and come back for their necessary classes. Jeez, Louise!

(And seriously, what is this, college....lite? I swear I never had this much freedom when I was in High School....back in (mumble mumble never mind)...once we arrived for the day, we had to stay there until dismissal, or face the consequences, by golly! Well...maybe that had something to do with the fact that my school was--literally--in the middle of a corn field...and there was nowhere to go...and it would have taken a while to get anywhere, much less return. But STILL!)

So to sum up, Derek has several concrete goals for the remainder of Junior year: 1) continue to pay attention at least well enough to ensure that his final grades are strong; 2) plan some Summer college visits that we can get on the calendar and 3) arrange an activity that will shape his character, instill discipline and good habits, and line his pockets, all at the same time...that's right, I'm talking about the time-honored tradition for American teenagers, the Summer Job, y'all! (Much more on that to follow--stay tuned....) But mostly, he seems to be relaxing and taking it relatively easy as his academic demands dwindle.

On the other hand, Riley is skidding into the holiday weekend wound tighter than...I don't know....a big ball of rubber bands? But wait, what could an 8th grader possibly have to worry about, really? Hmm, let's see...he has his own final exams, which--although he's a great student--studying for the tests has him waaayyy stressed out for some reason. Then in 2 of his classes he has an extra test (Bonus! Yaayyy....NOT!), since they're technically High School level courses, and in order to earn credit he has to pass the statewide measure of competency. One of these (that would be Math, in case you're wondering, also known as "the bane of his existence" this year) is giving him fits, as he struggles to limp to the Finish Line with a teacher who...let's just say has been "less than stellar" in our opinion. Therefore he's not exactly feeling all confident, like "I'm gonna kick these numbers' BUTTS"...staring down the barrel of the assessment.

On top of this the local soccer league, in all their infinite wisdom and understanding, scheduled their annual tryouts for this week, while the rest of this nonsense is already weighing him down. So for 2 nights (it would have been 3, if it weren't for the delightful tornado watch we were under on Wednesday) he had to take time away from schoolwork to participate in drills and scrimmages and such on the field, under the watchful eyes of a group of coaches whose job it was to evaluate everyone's skills and place them on the appropriate team. And, you guessed it: while he's a talented player and already a member of an elite team, he put all kinds of pressure on himself to turn in a flawless performance (which I know and you know and even HE knows, isn't even possible, but that's how hyped up he is right now), lest he be demoted.

Oh, and add to that a perfectly normal, healthy dollop of teenage hormonal angst, and you've got the recipe for one (temporarily) extremely unhappy, somewhat emotionally volatile kid. Fortunately, he's willing to air out his grievances with me (thank heavens!), and seems comfortable talking things out, listening to advice, trying various suggestions for...relieving stress and...increasing inner calm...or whatever. (Right? Because it makes sooooo  much sense that his much more spazzy, dramatic, high-strung parent is the one offering him techniques for promoting peacefulness and serenity and emotional stability. Yeeaaahhh, maybe we should practice these TOGETHER, ya think? That's what they call a Win-Win, for sure...)

One of the options I mentioned to him--based on the popularity of a recent craze among adults right now--was...coloring. That's right: breaking out the old Crayolas (or, you know, a brand new box of 64, like I did when I joined the trend) and filling in the lines (or roaming outside them--whatever, you're not being graded on this, it's for fun, so do whatever you want, that's the point! Ooohh, sorry. See what I mean about where Riley gets it from? How 'bout those joint coloring therapy sessions?).

I honestly wasn't sure how this would go over, since he's at an age where it could be seen as insulting and babyish, or it could go the whole other way and be a "Wow, that sounds cool! kind of notion. And whattya know, he LOVED the idea. In fact, he was so enthused that we immediately searched Amazon for some coloring books related to trains (since these have been a source of fascination for him since he was a wee tot) so he could get started....after the obligatory trip to Michael's for a fresh set of colored pencils--his artistic tool of choice.

Aaaannnd...it seems to be helping. When he's riled up about something, he'll pull out his new supplies, get settled at his desk, and color away. (For the record, he falls firmly in the "Design and Fill In", rather than the "Random Scribbler" category. He visualizes the finished picture, selects hues accordingly, and applies the shades neatly. Is anyone surprised? I didn't think so...) How well does it work to temper his moods? The other night I went into his room to ask if he'd heard the thunder, and he looked up from the page he was working on, blinked at me owlishly and replied, "What? Oh...no. When I'm coloring, I'm completely focused, and not aware of anything else!"

Alrighty, then. mischief managed...for the moment. Team WestEnders will continue on our merry way, counting down until the lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer unofficially begin....um, "June 9", for those of you scoring at home. Fingers crossed for a smooth...final fortnight!

Finally, the Main Event(s)

The week that was chock-full of melodrama and uproar caused by a certain posse of High Schoolers--mine included--came speeding to a close on Saturday, culminating in the Countdown to Kickoff...er "Prom". But wait--first, 3/4 of Team WestEnders had a little something called a DNA Day 5K to check off our list. (And yes, this was on the calendar waaayyy before Derek got recruited into attending the dance, because we're not THAT nuts....almost, but not quite...) So we got up, prepped with our usual pre-run routine...oh, except for Derek, that is. You see, he was tired--his own fault for not bothering to adjust his bedtime the night before--and opted to sleep until the last possible minute. Then, even though he absolutely knows better, he chose not to properly hydrate or eat anything before the race (when I prompted him to maybe have a banana and some juice, he shrugged and nonchalantly threw out, "I'll be okay.....I've done stupider things!" Yeaahhh, son, not exactly the most impressive argument, there.).

So, not surprisingly, we had to deal with some...issues: for example, Derek suffered a cramp during the race. And although it was cool-ish, it was also suuuuuper-humid at start time, which may explain why, at around the second mile, my legs began to feel like blocks of lead. The course is a familiar one that goes through UNC's campus, meaning I anticipated the hills. But by the time we arrived at what I knew were the last two inclines, my tank was officially EMPTY, and I had to slow down to a walk for a minute or so before picking it back up to finish. (Derek passed me again during this period, having recovered enough from his discomfort to at least cross the line ahead of me. Brat.)

Therefore I ended up with my slowest 5K time to date, as expected. However, a cheerful Riley greeted us with the news that he had come in...4th overall....with a total time of 20 minutes and 14 seconds. Holy Speed Demons, Batman! Which meant that he won the 13-and-Under Boys group, got his name called during the awards presentation, and was given a nifty medal. We were congratulating him and admiring his swag when they came to...Old...er Females category and I heard a shocking announcement over the PA--my name...pronounced correctly, even. What the WHAT? I was wondering "how on Earth did that happen?" when I came to the conclusions that 1) It must be a reeeealllly small field, 2) Perhaps I was the only one in my age range? (Hold on--I just looked it up, and there were, in fact, 5 of us, so I was "faster" than several other women...whoo hoo!), or 3) I did....ahem...."move up" this year, so now I'm at the younger end of the...Mature Ladies Who Run, so maybe that explains it.

With that excitement concluded, we headed home to devote our attention to 11th-hour Prom details, such as picking up Derek's date's corsage from the florist. He was supposed to bring one of his friends along to do the same thing, but..."Mac" (There, you have your own pseudonym--are you happy? You earned it...) texted him and said he couldn't come because (Are you ready for this?) his family's small canine pet swallowed a button off his tux's vest. I'm sorry, let me be sure I've got this straight: you're going with the "My dog ate my homework"--I mean "tux"--excuse? Wow, you must really not want to go to this thing, dude! Also, I have questions, such as "How the heck did the creature get to the tux anyway, with it inside its bag? And of course, WHY did it decide that a hard, shiny button would be a yummy snack? This is all very suspicious, I tell ya!

Fortunately, we didn't have to suffer in suspense, as Derek actually ran into Mac at the florist. You see, his mother had driven him there on her way to take the Schnoodle (no, I'm not making that up--it's a real breed...sort of...) to the vet and have the unauthorized object...handled. (No, I don't wanna know...). But she was understandably peeved with Mac, so she'd dropped him off and told him to find his own way home. Then along came Derek, at his time of need, to drive him back to our house-- thereby ensuring that her punishment would be entirely ineffective, and he would suffer no unpleasant consequences whatsoever from his actions. (Eh, sometimes parenting decisions backfire--what can you do?) When quizzed, Mac clarified that the button had, in fact, fallen off by itself, meaning that the tux was out of its wrapping awaiting his mother's repair. She was going to sew it back on when the dog snuck into the room and snatched it. (Well...okay. It's still ridiculous, but now I at least understand what happened.)

After Mac left to presumably return to his own home and face the music...play video games....whatever...Derek and I were chatting over lunch. He mused, "I'm gonna have to figure out how to get my hair to behave." (Background note: he and Riley are pretty regular every-8-weeks haircut guys, and they're slightly overdue. Not totally shaggy, but on the way there. Most importantly to Derek, he gets what he calls his Superman swoop--an s-shaped curl that flops over onto his forehead, that he despises. It's adorable, of course, but it bugs the heck out of him...) I started to offer a solution, such as helping him gel it...but as I opened my mouth he cut me off with a mischievous glint in his eye and a half-smirk and firmly stated, "I'm not COMBING it!" Right. Well, that level of...commitment...removes, oh, approximately ALL of our options, son. I presume you're going to get it to do what you want...using the power of your mind? Fine--good luck with that!

Next we moved on to: the donning of the formal wear! This was obviously an occasion for each of us to fulfill our special roles: Husband to assist...and me to document. And seriously, it took all of about 10 minutes to get him fully suited up and ready to head out (since, you know, he was insistent on eschewing the oh-so-retro comb in favor of the modern Jedi-hair-control method). He was meeting the whole gang of attendees at his buddy's (Lou, the one who volunteered him for Prom duty in the first place) date's house for photos.

Here's where I have to digress for a moment and mention the closest thing to an actual...altercation...that I believe Derek and I have ever experienced. When plans for the evening were being arranged earlier in the week--including the gathering at Evelyn's home and a scheduled trip to UNC's arboretum for "formal pictures", I'd interjected to ask at what point I'd be allowed to join in the photo parade. My precious child stared at me, aghast, and replied, "Mom! You can't follow me to Prom! That's so embarrassing--no other parents are going to be there!"

I gave him the "you've got to be kidding me, mister" look, and pointed out several truths to him: first of all, I 100% guarantee that most, if not every single other mother, at least, wants to take pictures as well; second, I don't intend to trail along after you like a Private Detective, snapping surreptitious shots that I'll later use for blackmail  (Hmm...unless that becomes necessary--perhaps I'll reserve judgement for now...); and finally, the stern "your father and I have been nothing but supportive, understanding, cooperative, and helpful during this whirlwind you've brought into our lives, and all I'm asking for in return is a Couple. Of. Freaking. Pictures. My voice might have been rising as I delivered this last section. There might have been a bit (or a LOT) of hand waving. I was getting altogether pretty worked up, but he just shook his head and stubbornly insisted that it was a terrible idea, and would cause him irreparable mortification, blah blah blah.

Fast forward to the gala night, when, as it turns out, ALL THE PARENTS joined their offspring at Evelyn's, to happily point cameras and snap away at their beautifully dressed progeny--none of whom, by the way, appeared to be the slightest bit put out by the commotion or attention. (I exercised remarkable restraint in not saying, "I told you so..." Ha! Just kidding! It was impossible not to point out that he'd gotten all hyped up over nothing...especially since this is such a rare occurrence for him. To his credit, he took it with good grace...)

I got to meet Derek's partner in this whole affair, who proved to be a lovely young lady. I appreciated the opportunity to view the neighborhood goofballs--who I often encounter in dirt and/or sweat- covered athletic clothes--all cleaned up and outfitted in their finery, and I must say they looked utterly dashing. The ceremonial pinning on of the boutonnieres was both amusing and nerve-wracking as sharp pins were jabbed toward our sons' chest regions (no flowers were harmed, nor blood shed, thank goodness). And can you believe it, through all of this: no tears?! (I know--I shocked myself by remaining calm and non-weepy. But the way I look at it, I'd better start practicing now, because there will be plenty of these kinds of moments in the coming year...deep breaths...)

From there, the couples moved on to the aforementioned pix-among-the-trees at UNC, then to dinner at a local restaurant, the dance itself, and...undetermined after-plans (which Derek reported as being a very low key "drive around a little, then hang out and talk at someone's house until curfew"). After all the craziness--and a good deal of uncertainty--leading up to it, Derek commented that he had, in fact, enjoyed himself...and was glad he went. Now all that's left to do is return the tux...and then we can all also return to normalcy for a while (until the Next Big Thing....but we've got a few weeks, so let's make it count!)

Aaaannnd, the hubbub continues...

Because the WestEnders season o'celebrations marches on, let's talk about...wait, what's next? Oh yeah: Mother's Day! The Male Trio tried to be all stealthy and whatnot, sneaking out to the store on Saturday while I was running errands, and trying to get...secret stuff...tucked away before I returned. However, I showed up before they expected me, prompting Derek to meet me at the garage door and wave his hands around in an amusing, animated, but completely incomprehensible manner as I pulled my car in, until I finally yelled in exasperation, "What. Do you want me. To do?" Mercifully, he ceased with the ineffective made-up sign language and articulated, "You can't come in yet!" At least he then joined me in the Subaru, to keep me company while I waited to be allowed entrance into my own house.

It turned out that they'd been arranging a lovely bouquet of Spring blooms, which greeted me when I was finally permitted to, you know, walk in the door. On Sunday, I headed out before anyone else was stirring, to take part in the Fresh Air Fitness group I belong to--because nothing quite says "pamper yourself on Mother's Day" like an 8:30 a.m. Boot Camp workout, right? Yeeeaahhhh....my thinking was: at least the exercise portion of my day gets checked off early...and there's always the potential for obtaining iced coffee afterwards at Whole Foods with some of the participants...so...let's DO this thing!

As a further reward, back at Casa WestEnders there were cards from the guys, and a dark chocolate bar. (Yaaayyy!) I had already decided that my...ahem..."gift to myself"...was going to be refraining from all manner of chores for the day--specifically and most importantly the onerous one known as "laundry". But Husband did me one better when he asked, "Hey, do you wanna go see Guardians of the Galaxy for Mother's Day?" Um, hold on a minute and let me think...you do realize you're giving me license to ogle the...celestial hotness...that is Chris Pratt, right? Okay, then, as long as we're clear on that, Sign. Me. Up! So we spent a delightfully pleasant family afternoon enjoying the first Summer blockbuster...and lots of popcorn, let's not forget that!

Alas, all too soon it was Monday again, and you know what that means: the fun is officially over. Oh, except that this week, Derek's low-key version of the Promposal was slated to occur, before classes started on Doomsday...I mean "Monday". He reported that it went off without a hitch...even with the tiny complication of...an audience who figured out what he was doing and tagged along to watch! Nevertheless--as predetermined--she accepted, thereby successfully completing that portion of the...let's call it "organizational stage".

Which was fortuitous, as it led smoothly into the next step: corsage...wrangling. (Hey, it's my task, and I'm gonna call it what I want!) Derek had already confirmed with his date that he would be buying her corsage, and she'd be handling the...as he insisted on calling it...."boo-tin-WAH". I raised my eyebrows when he told me this, and commented, "You know how to pronounce it correctly!" He smirked back and replied, "Yeah, but it's French, so I'm gonna say it that way!" (Siiiighhhhh....big honkin' gooberhead...)

I admit I was a wee bit concerned about the prospect of ordering a flower arrangement FOUR DAYS before the event, but what can ya do? So the teenager and I slunk into a local florist, approached the cheerful-looking young lady behind the counter, and explained our situation. I almost winced, anticipating a stern glare...an impatient huff...a sarcastic "are you kidding me, lady? eye roll. But she smiled reassuringly and said, "Oh, it's fine! People will even come in the day of Prom and pick something up!" Reeeaalllly? Well, that's just dandy, then! (Maybe this is a Chapel Hill thing? I can't see this happening in our old hometown, somehow...but thank goodness it was so uncomplicated!)

I swear, in under 10 minutes we'd discussed and made decisions about colors, types of blossoms to use, and coordinating ribbon--and of course by "we" I mean the clerk and me, since Derek stood there like a statue, mute and wearing a helpless "I have no idea what you're babbling about....and it honestly terrifies me a little...and I might bolt at any moment" expression. And as for the other thing I thought might be an issue: potential sticker shock from being charged an arm and a leg for being difficult and making such a last-minute demand? Uh-uh. Perfectly reasonable cost...and no extra "rush fee" as far as I could tell. So, done, and DONE...whoo hoo!

As if all this...promdemonium (Ha! I just made that up...maybe...let's go with that...) weren't enough, today is Husband's and my anniversary. (I TOLD you it was a wild, ongoing parade of festivities for us, didn't I?) However, with everything going on this week, we stuck to giving each other cards, wishing each other a "Happy 'Nother Year of Marriage", and calling it a...(Tues)day. For now, the To Do List has been conquered...at least until Wednesday...hey, maybe the 19th anniversary is the one where you...take a NAP! (Yep, I'm declaring it...zzzzzz....)

Does this remind anyone else of the Yule Ball? (Or is that just me?)

Hey, wanna come along with me on a little imagination trip for a second? (Sure you do!) Okay, suppose you enter your kitchen after returning from a pleasant evening walk, and your oldest son is sitting at the table...wearing an uncharacteristically...grave...expression. While Husband stands nearby and smirks--which could honestly either be reassuring or even more alarming--the teenager turns to you and states, "I have something to tell you." His tone of voice does nothing to alleviate my growing sense of unease, which expands further when he adds emphatically, "And you're going to Freak. Out."

Now, we may all be aware that I don't have a terribly high tolerance for tension, so this was already pushing my threshold. "Well?" I demanded, "What is it?" I had a split second before he spoke again to focus on his face while I steeled myself for his...confession?...and I suddenly realized that some of what I'd taken for seriousness might actually more closely resemble...the proverbial "deer in the headlights" look. Finally he dispelled the suspense by announcing, "I'm going....to PROM!" complete with a dramatic wave of his hands to complete the effect.

Ohhhh...myyyyy...WOOOOOW! I've gotta say, that was totally unexpected--especially considering the fact that I'd been asking this beloved young man on a regular basis for MONTHS whether he had any intention of attending the event, and each time he'd shrugged disinterestedly and replied, "Eh...I'm just not into it." So what changed? Whew...let me tell ya, that made for quite a convoluted and confusing tale. With that Storyteller's Disclaimer, I can't promise I'm going to get all the nitty gritty details right, but I'll try to capture the gist, as best I can recall and relay it.

The first and most critical thing to know is: we're blaming the whole thing on one of his school buddies--whose anonymity I pledged to uphold when I warned him I'd be writing about the incident...even though it wouldn't really matter, as everyone involved would easily recognize him anyway...nevertheless we shall call him..."Lou". You see, Lou DID want to go to Prom, since it is, of course, a major social event, and a rite of passage for Upperclassmen, and he understandably didn't want to miss out on the...hoopla. Therefore he--and I allow that this part is a bit fuzzy on the facts--apparently arranged to go with a girl who also lives in our neighborhood, since they've been good friends for a long time, both wanted to go to the dance, and neither had a date already.

Nice! What a happy ending, right? But wait...you might wonder--as I did--how in the world Derek managed to get himself dragged into the narrative? Weeellll...it seems that the young lady (who also needs a pseudonym if I'm going to talk about her, so she's now "Evelyn", okay?) had a girlfriend who also lacked a companion to escort her to the shindig. Lou and Evelyn were supposedly chatting about this dilemma, when someone threw Derek's name into the ring as a possible solution. Innocent enough, yeah? But that's when things went careening quickly off the rails, as Evelyn MIGHT have mentioned it to her mother...who's close to Lou's mom...and just like that, the speculative "hmmm, this might work" became a done-deal...WITHOUT Derek being informed. Like, at all.

Which is why, during lunch at school on Friday, when Lou's mother texted him something to this effect, he panicked, grabbed Derek, dragged him away from the rest of the group obliviously enjoying their meals, and muttered possibly the most dreaded sentence in all of humankind's history: "We have to talk." Lou then proceeded to bring Derek up to speed on the developments of the saga in which he had become unwittingly embroiled, all the while entreating him not to worry, and assuring him that everything would be fine....somehow. Oh, and did I forget to throw in there the amusing tidbit that Derek and this--I'm sure delightful--girl don't know each other? As in "have never exchanged so much as a casual greeting"? (Right--she's joined the cast of the...soap opera...now, so she requires an alias as well...we'll go with "Patricia"...are you keeping up? Very good...let's continue...)

And with a somewhat wild-eyed demeanor, Derek concluded, "That's all I know...for now." I had been following this speech with rapt attention, naturally, but now that he'd wound down and caught us up to the present, a burning question popped into my brain. "Um...sweetie? When, exactly, does Prom, you know, HAPPEN?" With a sheepish grin he admitted, "Next weekend?" As if feigning ignorance would make up for the incontrovertible fact that he had given us a WEEK to prepare...all I could think was, "Thank goodness he's a dude--all we really have to worry about is renting a tux and ordering some flowers!" (Yeah...neither of which we have any idea how to do...or even know if there's time enough to accomplish...but apparently, we're gonna figure it out!)

However, we seem to have gained an absolutely invaluable ally in Evelyn--who by all accounts is 100% On. Top. Of. This. By the end of the evening, she had sent Derek a lengthy text including pertinent information such as Patricia's favorite candy (more on that in a second) and the color of her gown (for corsage-matching purposes, of course. And yes, the girls had gone ahead and purchased dresses for the occasion...determining that they would go as a group, before the whole "Operation Friend Matchmaking Scheme" was hatched. Pretty remarkable foresight and organization, yeah? You go, girls!).

Now, about the sweets: at this point, Derek and Patricia STILL haven't actually, you know, "spoken to each other", much less discussed showing up at an iconic High School function together...but Lou and Patricia both gave their solemn vow that no matter what, she was going to say "yes" when Derek finally got around to asking. Because you see, third-person negotiating aside, it's not enough these days to just request the honor of someone's company in the old-fashioned way...noooooo, you have to do a (wait for it...) PROMPOSAL. That's right, you heard correctly. And perhaps you're with me in thinking, "I'm sorry, what the WHAT? When the heck did that become a thing?" Evidently you've got to make a cute sign, or bring balloons, or, I don't know, spell out your message in cookies, or come up with some other creative, goopy, silly-sweet grand gesture....to ask someone to a DANCE, for crying out loud!

Fortunately, since this was all very last-minute, and "arranged by others", and let's not forget "Derek and Patricia haven't even really met", Evelyn supplied the information that Patricia likes Sour Patch Kids. And Lou was feeling soooo guilty about his part in railroading his pal that he went to the store and bought a ginormous bag of them for Derek to present to Patricia when he gets around to meeting with her face-to-face and officially offering to accompany her, blah blah blah. (When Lou dropped by our house to pass the package o'sugar on to Derek, I approached to chat with them for a moment. I tried--I reeaallly made an effort--to give Lou my best Mom Glare, and pretend to be furious with him as he, when I was still probably 10 feet or so away, began apologizing profusely and earnestly for the "chaos" he'd inadvertently caused. It was adorable...and hilarious...and I swear he'd still be saying "sorry" if I hadn't broken into a grin and stopped him, letting him know I wasn't mad in the slightest and he wasn't on my Doghouse List. It was fun to watch him squirm, though...for the 30 seconds I managed to maintain my fake ire before I let him off the hook..)

Meanwhile, Husband and Derek embarked on a successful quest...for formal-wear....this morning. Since Patricia's outfit is black, I've been told, he selected a black tuxedo with a dark purple vest and tie ("like the Ravens' uniforms" it was explained to me--of COURSE there was a sports reference. Are you surprised? I didn't think so...). I'm not completely excused from duties, however, as my role shall be to supervise in picking out the corsage (which by the way is a word that I would bet you a million...Monopoly dollars...Derek had never encountered before this experience. So, you know, it's all very....vocabulary-enriching...or whatever. Also: "YAAAAYYY for flowers"! My part in the Prom-a-palooza plan rocks!).

Honestly, all the drama and hubbub aside, I'm super-psyched that he's going. When he kept telling me he didn't care about the Prom, I secretly worried that he'd eventually come to be sorry he missed it, and I'm glad he'll have this chance to make some special memories with his friends and classmates. As for me, I'm looking forward to seeing him all dressed up, and taking LOTS of photos...and, let's face it, trying my darndest not to cry (at least in front of him and his lady-friend...after he leaves, fuhgeddaboutit!)...and hearing all about it when he returns home. I guess I should look at the silver lining: true, we don't have much time to get ready...but at least we don't have too long to wait for the Big Day--ha!

Weekend Warriors

During our own version of Spring Training, if you will, there are times when Team WestEnders has to tackle its activities using a split-squad approach. This weekend, for example, Husband and Riley headed west to Asheville for a soccer tournament, while I stayed home to make sure Derek got his teenage butt up and at 'em at a ridiculously early hour for the SAT on Saturday morning--oh, and also to chauffeur him there, since his father's vehicle is the only one he is able to operate (my Subaru being of the "manual transmission" variety, ya know...).

So, the sports contingent got underway on Friday evening, loaded down with snacks, gear...and more warm clothing than you might guess they'd need for an event occurring in May, given that the forecast for their locale included rain, wind, and unseasonably chilly temperatures. (Whew--dodged a bullet on that one, y'all!) And speaking of good luck, when Derek returned to the homestead after spending some quality post-school time at a friend's house, he cheerfully shared this piece of news; "You don't have to worry about driving me to the test, because [anonymous pal who lives around the corner from us] is going, and can take me!"

"Oh, that's great!" I replied sincerely...but being, you know, ME, I couldn't help adding, "Do you recall when I quizzed you about whether any of your buddies were signed up for the exam? So you could carpool? And you shrugged and mumbled 'I dunno'?" He grinned, completely unapologetically, "Yeeaaahhh...what about it?" Unable to prevent my voice rising in both pitch and volume, I continued, "DID YOU EVEN ASK ANYONE?" He appeared to consider this for a second before frankly admitting, "Eh...probably not..." I swear, he totally does this to bait me, right? Because he derives great amusement from my little hissy fits? Ay yi yi...

However, I had to forgive his minor transgression when I basked in the profound pleasure of a silent, peaceful house for about 6 hours on Saturday....aaahhhhh. And did we appreciate the rest of our special bonding time, just my oldest son and me? Absolutely! Well...let's make that "mostly". There was the one tiny blip--when I came downstairs at around 11:15, just before starting my nightly preparing-for-bed ritual, and encountered Derek standing at the kitchen counter...munching on the bowl of fruit I'd cut up for his afternoon snack. Astonished, I ordered, "Hey! Go to bed! Why are you still up...and eating?" He laughingly replied, "I can't go to bed...I'm HUNGRY!" My own tired brain really couldn't come up with an argument for that, so I shook my head and walked away, muttering something along the lines of, "It's like trying to reason with a toddler..." (I could hear him snickering at my back as I retreated. Brat!)

Then on Sunday, while he slept in to make up for his cruel and unusual 6:30 wakeup call the previous day, I set off on a rare weekend solo...safari--and it was indirectly Derek's doing. You see, he'd taken a field trip with his AP Biology class a couple of weeks ago, to the Conservators Center, a site that houses and cares for a variety of wild animals that have come to them through donation, rescuing, or in some cases, being seized as illegal "exotic pets". He returned from the outing with such cool stories that I couldn't wait to check it out myself, so I booked a tour, which they only offer to the public on Saturdays and Sundays.

He warned me ahead of time that this place is "out in the middle of nowhere"...which to him was confirmed by the fact that, about 20 minutes before arrival, you lose the WiFi signal. (Gasp--the horror! Kids these days...) But to his credit, the website cautions you about this as well, suggesting that you actually WRITE DOWN your directions before setting out and attempting to navigate your way to them, since your GPS was likely to conk out somewhere along the road. (Okay, okay, duly noted.) Derek also emphatically advised that I bring food along, since "There's nowhere around there to eat. AT ALL." I reminded him that I'm not an adolescent boy with the metabolism of a hyperactive gnat, and therefore I would probably be just fine for a few hours without sustenance. He shook his head as though these words made no sense to him whatsoever and gave me one of those, "Okay, suit yourself" skeptical looks. (I ended up second-guessing myself and bringing some trail mix, just in case...better safe than...hangry....yeah?)

I left plenty of time in my self-imposed schedule for getting lost...or missing a turn...oh, and of course for obtaining coffee for the journey. However, my old-fashioned paper instructions served me well, and I found my way with no trouble...thus arriving 45 minutes ahead of my appointment. Oh well, that's fine--it gave me plenty of time to listen to the eerily beautiful howling (wolves?) and disconcertingly loud chuffing (lions? I seriously jumped and looked around the first time I heard it--they sound like they're RIGHT next to you!) coming from over the (reassuringly high and sturdy) fence surrounding the park.

Upon being ushered in through the gate, you begin with what they call the "smalls": creatures such as binturongs (also known as "bearcats"...who knew that was a real thing? I always thought the University of Cincinnati made it up...), lemurs, servals, jungle cats (which sounds insultingly generic, but actually is the correct name), fennec foxes, and lynx. The guide not only tells you about each species, in general, but often has a specific story about the individual animal--like how it came to live at the center, or how it likes to interact with the keepers. The narrative is utterly fascinating, and the critters are gorgeous--not to mention that, in most cases, you're only a few feet away from their enclosure and can observe them in a very up-close-and personal way.

And then...you head over to the "larges"--lions and tigers and...well, no bears, but leopards and dingoes and wolves! Remember my comment about the proximity? Um...let's just say you're reeeeaaaallly within chomping distance of some massive predators--who seem more than happy to prove it with an impressive display of teeth and claws. I just kept making an effort to send out...vegetarian vibes..."You wouldn't like me--I taste like lettuce...and sunflower seeds...and, um....blueberries! Yuck! Better try someone--I mean "something"--else!"

My pack got lucky and caught up with a "Treats and Toys" tour group making the rounds at the same time, in which an employee interacts with the big cats by getting them to stand up and lie down on command, for a reward  (yes, these consisted of "hunks of raw meat"). They train the animals to do this so the vets can examine their backs and undersides on a regular basis, for injuries or any other concerns...without actually having to put themselves in danger by entering the enclosure. Right on cue, one of the tigers, when approached by the obviously familiar "lady with the bucket" immediately strolled over to the fence, made what she described as a polite greeting sound, and then--I'm not kidding--began to whine, anticipating being fed a morsel of something yummy. Adorable...like an enormous, fuzzy...albeit savage...housecat. I spent the entire walk thinking about how much I sooooo wanted to scratch all of their ears...

Anyway, besides that informative and entertaining display, we humans were also treated to a vocal performance--when the staff, by expertly approximating some of the lions' noises, got them to call back with their characteristic snorting sound. It was awe inspiring...and also a little bit terrifying, again, being right next to a 600 pound beast and hearing its powerful voice. Much less unnerving was the cute barking of the dingoes as they frolicked in their pen with the keepers--looking for all the world like little domesticated dogs. But the leopard stalked the perimeter of his cage, glaring out at us as we neared...and growling. Um...nice kitty? I don't know what had his spots all bunched up, but he settled down after a few minutes...and promptly went to sleep in the sun, like his feline nature compels him to do.

Finally we came to the end of the line: the stunning pair of wolves, calmly and regally gazing out at us from their shady space. It was an educational morning, for sure--and also captivating, with a wealth of knowledge being shared by the wonderful staff. Heyyyyy...since Husband and youngest son missed it this time, I have an excuse to go back, right? Yippee! Peace out until next time, wild kingdom!

Another birthday? Sure! (Any excuse for cake...)

To continue with the Team WestEnders celebration season, we moved straight from Derek's birthday to mine. Although unlike the teenager, I tend to somewhat gloss over the whole "turning a year older" thing, we do still acknowledge the milestone--in-house, as it were. First, and most amusingly, my work mates weighed in with a...unique...tribute. You see, each Thursday, anyone who's in the office and available participates in a 15-minute Mini Boot Camp, to socialize, get out of our chairs, and move a little bit all at the same time.

Last week the person who usually puts together the playlists for our sessions (because trust me, planks are soooo much more enjoyable...or at least less onerous...with a fun, distracting background soundtrack) stopped by my door at some point in the morning and without preamble asked, "So, what's your favorite band?" Confused by her question, I stammered something along the lines of, "Er...I don't really have one..."

Still without clarifying her intent, she tried again, "Well, what type of music do you like?" Suddenly it dawned on me: since it was the week of my birthday, she was going to choose our inspirational workout tunes based on my preferences! (She ended up going with a theme of "Women Who Rock", by the way, which was super-cool to listen to...and definitely made the time pass more quickly while trying to hold good form on those planks...)

A short while later, our resident Fitness Guru (the woman who plans what exercises to include in our quarter hour of strengthening) also paid me a visit. "Not for any particular reason," she threw out in an oh-so-casual tone, "but is there a specific body part you feel like targeting today, or any of our routines you especially want to do?"

Okay, I'm sensing a conspiracy, here (of the nicest kind, of course)...and can I just say, that has to be a first--having a health interlude dedicated to me. Yet, it also seems exceptionally appropriate, as I'm, ahem, "no Spring chicken" anymore, and therefore should be focusing on maintaining my...youthful vigor...or whatever. After all, who needs cake when you can have pushups and triceps dips, I always say! (Oh wait, I NEVER say that! What I meant was: let's work the muscles, so we can have our dessert...and eat it, too! Am I right? Yeah, I thought so...)

And since we're on the subject of...frosted delights (mmmmm), Husband brought home a gluten-free chocolate-on-chocolate concoction that he'd purchased for the occasion. He laughingly admitted, "The boys and I discussed it, and we decided you'd be much happier if we DIDN'T attempt to bake you something!" Um...yes, I wholeheartedly agree that's for the best! Also, let's not forget to mention the lovelies pictured at right:

As for presents, when queried for ideas several months ago, the only thing I could come up with was an add-on rack for my Subaru, so I could theoretically put an end to the sweaty battle that transpires each time I have to wrestle my bike into the car to take it out of the neighborhood for a trail ride. However, this idea--while brilliant and practical--proved difficult and expensive to actually pull off, so I had to give it up as a lost cause.

Which led to the following entertaining exchange, a couple of days before my birthday:
Riley: "Oh my gosh, Mom, you never told us what to get you for a gift!"

Derek: "Yeah, and we're running out of time! What do you want for your birthday? And how are we gonna pick it up before Saturday?" (I swear, straight from the "spoiled by 2-day free shipping with Amazon Prime" generation...oops, I was responsible for exposing them to that...my bad!) I assured them that all I needed to be happy was their love and respect and devotion, blah blah blah. But then I was struck by a brainstorm, "OR, when we go to the Bulls game tomorrow night, you can get me a shirt!"

They quickly accepted this suggestion, so during our pleasant baseball outing (on a stellar April evening when we were thrilled to observe that we were neither freezing...as we have experienced on more than one early-season occasion both here and in Maryland...nor boiling...as we can expect later in the year) I was treated to the charming team apparel you see pictured above. And finally, to round out my special day, I received a surprise from some of our best Maryland friends, who sent an Edible Arrangement. Wow--fruit and chocolate...my two most beloved food groups! (It's like they've known me...for decades...or something...)

And with that, another year's festivities come to a close. Oh, except that we still owe both Derek and me a dinner out on the town...in a few more weeks, when the UNC students finish up and clear out for a while. I think we've settled (tentatively--these things can definitely change, depending on the whims of the honoree) on Al's Burger Shack for Derek's meal (They do feature a homemade black bean burger...and sweet potato fries!) and the new Chopt eatery (Salads galore! Some even with meat!) when it opens, supposedly sometime in early May. So really, the birthday hoopla is going to continue...right up until Mother's Day. Whoo hoo! Keep the chocolate comin'! (And maybe some extra-intense Boot Camps to balance it out--ha!)