Maryland Visit--something old and something new!

Team WestEnders set off for our annual Summer pilgrimage to Maryland on Wednesday, after the usual planning and packing...and mentally preparing ourselves for the assault on Virginia. It has become the custom for Derek to take the first driving shift, since he prefers to pilot the vehicle during daylight hours when he's most awake and alert (and obviously his parents are in complete agreement that this is for the best). Besides, that way he gets the--undeniably boring but also generally uncomplicated--stretch of I-85, which typically causes us few problems.

And this year was no different...oh, right...except for the bear. You see, we were just moseying along, minding our own business, when suddenly Husband pointed out the window and yelled, "Hey, there's a BEAR!" The three of us who weren't busy navigating whipped our heads around to look at what was surely a...caffeine withdrawal hallucination?...and were astonished to be able to confirm that yes, there was a small-ish black ursine creature standing on the exit ramp we had just passed. All I can say is--well, a couple of things, really: 1) he must have been sooo confused to wander out of the roadside forest and find him or herself facing a highway full of speeding automobiles, and 2) only in Virginia, dude.

So, that was more excitement than we normally experience on our excursions between the old and new hometowns--at least if you don't count the traffic circus that we almost always encounter. This time, however, I'm almost afraid to admit (for fear of jinxing it) that we found very little gridlock. In fact, I was on my phone scrolling through Facebook...and missed Fredericksburg entirely. Trust me when I say that this is an unheard-of phenomenon, since that city's 24-7 freeway mayhem usually inspires...much colorful expression of....exasperation. The only real snafu came when it was time for a potty break, and rather than use a rest area, we attempted to kill the proverbial two birds by pulling into a Sheetz/WaWa/other similar establishment so we could both use the facilities and purchase edibles to provide sustenance for the rest of the way.

After passing several "towns" that merited only a plain identification sign, with no services listed, we finally spotted one that promised a Sheetz. It was only when you actually pulled off the interstate that they confessed it was "1.8 miles" further. Well, that hardly counts as "convenient", now does it? Shame on you, Virginia, for misrepresenting your....Sheetz proximity...to the weary travelers in need! But we were already committed to this course of action, so we had no choice but to continue...which we did...well PAST the prescribed distance...with nary a Sheetz oasis in sight.

At this point there miiiiight have commenced some ranting about how Virginia was...I believe the term "sucky" came to mind...and also "a big stupid liar" Yeeaaaeah, this was all me--the kids found the whole situation inexplicably hilarious, and Husband occupied himself by alternating between running commentary ("Ooh, this place is scary! Let's not stop here!) and inane suggestions (There's a Walgreens! I know they have bathrooms! And snacks!") We eventually opted to just rejoin I-95 and make another attempt in Tyson's Corner...where we STILL had to concede defeat and pause at an extremely creepy, none-too-clean gas station for as short a time as possible. Once we'd crossed the American Legion Bridge, we heaved a collective sigh of relief and repeated a new addition to our family lore: Virginia...it'll always get you SOMEHOW.

At least we did arrive safely at our HQ for the long weekend. On Thursday our first activity involved a tour at the University of Maryland in College Park. We managed to get up, get ready, and leave exactly when we'd planned to (which is quite rare and impressive for Team WestEnders), but Husband had forgotten--in the previous night's...uproar--that he needed to fill the gas tank. This slight delay made him worry that we'd be late...a fear which apparently awoke his inner Dale Earnhardt Jr. Thus we were reacquainted with the Beltway--a crowded, unpleasant, dangerous road I've never, ever missed for even one second since moving out of the area--with someone behind the wheel who decided to drive like a bat out of hell. Oh, joy.

Once we arrived intact (if a bit green), we sat in on the information session, which described the educational opportunities, social life, admission process, financial aid, blah blah blah. Then we followed a perky student guide (Amanda) around campus as she showed us points of interest like the Office of Admissions; the large green space in the center of campus called McKeldin Mall; a residence hall; a brand new building where the classrooms are "set up for collaborative learning"; the baseball and football stadiums; one of the libraries, with the iconic terrapin mascot statue in front (Testudo, whose nose you're supposed to rub for good luck--which we did, since you don't mess with that kind of thing); athletic facilities the students can use; and the student union, which includes a dining hall. That might have been Derek's favorite part, as food is near and dear to his heart--and I think he probably stopped listening to anything else Amanda was saying after she uttered the words, "You can eat as often as you want, as much as you want, and can stay as long as you want." Um...that's pretty much his idea of paradise, you know?

When we'd finished being led around and seeing the sights, we bid the university farewell and moved on to our next "appointment" of the day: a visit to the town where we used to live. Derek had made arrangements with some of his friends from Middle School to meet at the park around the corner from our old house, so we dropped him off. Then Husband, Riley and I had several hours to kill before joining some of our soccer family amigos for dinner, so we followed what has become our standard agenda....hanging out in the local library for a while, then taking a stroll around Lake Needwood for some fresh air, exercise, and communing with nature (some of our very favorite things, all wrapped into one neat package--not bad for a pleasant afternoon jaunt).

Finally, we gathered at the one restaurant I actually miss since moving to Chapel Hill, California Tortilla, for our twice-yearly combination food-fix and catch-up with the futbol crowd. It's always so awesome chatting with them...even if this year some of the conversation centered around the dually terrifying topics of "the younger siblings going to high school" and "the older boys starting the whole college search/application/selection rigamarole". Nevertheless, a satisfying meal and loads of laughs make for a fabulous end to a very long but totally entertaining day. And with that, it's high time for some well-deserved SLEEP before the whirlwind continues tomorrow....ZZZZZZ!

Jim Henson--famous University of Maryland alumni!

You want chips with that?

After all the hoopla died down, from the unexpectedly lengthy and complicated process of Derek actually getting hired for his first job, he kicked off his brand new Working Life on Sunday night, with the 5-9 p.m. shift at Subway. As an added…bonus…because Husband’s out of town, he had to endure the dreaded Mom Taxi scenario, but strangely enough, he declined my generous and heartfelt offer to walk him in..like I was sending him off to Kindergarten, or something. (I just can’t imagine WHY!) I had to settle for repeating the time-honored “first day” advice: play nicely with others, learn something new, and try your best. (Which cracks me up—it never occurred to me before, how well those kiddie rules just naturally apply to grown-up situations as well!)

Then…presumably he toiled away diligently—at whatever tasks they might see fit to assign to a newbie, I suppose--until it was time for me to go and retrieve him. When he plopped himself heavily into the car with a sigh, I asked him for his impressions on how it had gone. “Fine,” he replied, and then interjected, “I’m exhausted! This is the only time I’ve sat down since 5:00!” Ah, yes…welcome to the lightning-paced world of the fast-food-ish restaurant biz…where you just survived your inaugural Sunday evening dinner rush. Whoo hoo—congrats!

Of course, I pressed him for more details, and he further described his experience as “pretty stressful, having to put things together quickly and get everyone’s order right.” It seems that he’d been busy doing other…supportive-type activities…in the back, but the manager had called him out to help with customer service because they had a line of hungry people to feed. Alrighty, then, “trial by fire” it is!

He told us that he did some general cleaning, restocking when things ran low, (the oh-so-thrilling), mopping, and adding vegetables to sandwiches, but not meat, because “that comes later.” (Although as a vegetarian I have some pretty specific ideas about the…dangers…of deli products, I don’t have a clue why Subway deems them so much more challenging that they don’t train employees in their use until they’re considered fully ready for such knowledge…) Oh, and he shared that he’s “not so good at the folding and wrapping part yet [of the sandwiches for presentation to the customer]”.

On the definite plus side, he found out that he gets to keep a portion of the tips, when satisfied sandwich-purchasers are pleased with his work and choose to leave some money. (Since it was his first night, the manager let him keep the whole amount this time, which was very sweet of her.) On the downside, he really thought one would get something to eat, during a break or after the shift, and apparently this isn’t the case. (To be around all that food, for hours, and not be able to partake in it must be a special kind of torture to a perpetually hungry adolescent boy! Eh, it’ll be good for strengthening his…willpower…or whatever.)

The next step was for him to stop by on Tuesday to check the schedule for the coming week, and see when he was supposed to show up again. With Husband still away, I drove him over once more. He returned to the car and reported with exasperation, “She put me down to work two days while we’re in Maryland…so I have to text her and let her know to change it.” As we I was exiting the parking lot it occurred to me to ask, “So, what other days are you scheduled?” He shrugged and mumbled, “I’ll have Trevor take a picture and send it to me.”

“Um…sweetie? Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, done that yourself while you were there…like 30 seconds ago? ‘Cuz it’s not like any of the REST of us—such as, just as a minor example, the person whose car you need to borrow on a regular basis to get yourself to and from your new gig--need to know what you’re doing, right? I mean, I know it’s Summertime and all, but do me a favor and try to use your Teenage Boy Brain at least once in a while, ‘kay?”

So we turned around and went BACK, for him to do just that…prompting him to utter the best comment of the afternoon, by far: “I don’t wanna have a job…it’s too much WORK!” (Hahahahaha! Nice one, son. Oh, and also “too bad”; you’re stuck in the ranks of the Employed Folks now, and there’s no turning back!) And would you believe that when we returned home and he was reading his shifts to me so I could add them to the master calendar, he hadn’t noticed that he was also scheduled for July 7^th…the day he’s getting his wisdom teeth removed. You guessed it--he has to go back one more time to leave a note for the manager saying why he can’t come in that day…or he’ll have poor Trevor do it for him. Siiiighhhhh.

Clearly there are going to be some…growing pains…with this endeavor. When Husband returned from his trip, he asked a question that I hadn’t—had Derek enjoyed himself? His response kind of summed up the undertaking, “It’s not like I’m passionate about sandwich making. Is it FUN? No. Can I tolerate it? Yes.” Yep, sounds about right for a part-time minimum wage first job. But for now, by all accounts (including the manager’s), he completed a successful “debut”, he’s gaining all kinds of Valuable Life Skills, blah blah blah…and he gets to wear kind of a cool t-shirt in lieu of a uniform. All in all, we’ll take it! 

Running...into (a little) trouble!

In 2015, Team WestEnders did a race called Four on the Fourth—which, as the name suggests, covered 4 miles rather than our usual 5K, and took place on Independence Day. Last year we were in Seattle for the holiday, and missed it. But we’ll be in town for July 4^th, 2017, so we broached the subject of participating in it again with the kids, as a potential “fun-filled family activity”…or what have you.

And lemme tell ya, the response was LESS than what you’d call…enthusiastic…or even receptive….or anything else that can be construed as “positive”, for that matter. There was immediate backlash from the older son, who made an exasperated noise and huffed, “Really? We’re gonna be THAT family?” Um…that depends…which one are you talking about, dear? “You know, the one that gets up EARLY on a HOLIDAY to go RUN!” Since he’d so eloquently cleared that up, I was able to cheerfully reply, “Oh! Well then YES—yes, we ARE that family!” Riley’s response was a much more succinct and plaintive, “Ugh. Noooo!...do we have to?”

I pointed out to the lazy teenage slugs—I mean “beloved offspring”—that since it’s their Summer break, they have the privilege of sleeping in most days anyway, so it shouldn’t be any kind of a hardship to drag themselves out of bed ONCE. Somehow, they were unmoved by my calm, cool logic, however.

But…then I started thinking about how I’ve been able to keep running these days only with varying degrees of determination…and difficulty. Honestly, my knees grudgingly consent to pound the pavement for 3-ish miles, but would most likely rebel…probably in a verrrry unpleasant fashion…if I demanded more out of them at this point. So the upshot was: I brightened the kids’ day considerably be conceding the issue, and instead began looking around for a substitute (because, you know, “foregoing races completely” is just not an option…)

What I found was a new offering called (wait for it) the VegFest 5K. It was the right length, it was local, and the participant t-shirt they showed on the website depicted a trio of…running vegetables! Say no more, I’m IN! I even got Husband to agree to tag along with me, although you can scarcely imagine the amount of eye-rolling and mockery that the children heaped on us for joining a race that appeared to be entirely supported by eco-friendly, organic, vegan sponsors. (Yes! MY TRIBE….y’all!)

That’s how we found ourselves making the short trip to Southern Village early this past Sunday—with one groggy, silent individual (Guess who? Yeah, that was easy, wasn’t it?) and one annoyingly chatty and chipper dude. (Seriously, Husband is SUCH a morning person—aren’t they awful? I mean, when you can’t have coffee because you’re going to be exercising just a few short minutes after your eyes open? There should be a rule that they have to be quiet and leave us alone! Or is that just me? Whatever….sure, I’m awake NOW…)

Anyway, this was the…first rehearsal, if you will…of this event--and boy, did it show. Mind you, everything LOOKED good—with many vendors setting up their displays with lots of interesting products to peruse after the workout portion of the day was completed. The organizers had encouraged folks to come in costume, and a few took them up on the challenge, which is why we found ourselves mingling with a teenaged pineapple…a tutu-d watermelon…a young carrot…and an eggplant guy who had the further audacity to bring his (plainly dressed, thank goodness) dog along for the festivities.

And things went well….that is, right up until the first turn (um, that would be approximately 30 seconds out of the proverbial gate. Before that, whew, it was smooth sailing!) The volunteer who was supposed to be pointing out the route initially signaled for us to continue down the wrong street, before checking his GPS and correcting himself. (Later, Husband would note that we should have known how things would turn out, based on that inauspicious start…hindsight, man…sigh…)

Then at around 1.5 miles, there was an obstacle—what I can only describe as the Everest of this particular neighborhood: a steeeeep, loooong hill that I initially made a valiant attempt to scale at a jogging pace, but finally had to admit was only realistically conquerable by walking. (In my mind, I rallied my spirit with something along the lines of “I may not have defeated the *&%$ mountain, but I WILL win the war—ahem…”finish the race”!) But wait, it gets worse: because of a lack of support personnel lining the route—or even directional signs, which would have been sufficient and appreciated—there were few people keeping you on track, so I, and the pack of people I happened to be with, made an erroneous turn…and faced that same stupid incline AGAIN! (Yeah, didn’t even try to pretend to run up it the second time…)

Finally, to add (further) insult to (fortunately only metaphorical) injury, there was absolutely no instruction about what to do around mile 2.5, so the whole horde of us went…unintentionally rogue…without even being aware of it. Nope, we just kept plugging along…until I finally looked at my phone’s stopwatch, because my legs felt like lead and I was 100% out of gas, and saw that 33 minutes had passed. Now, even WITH some slow periods, this falls well outside the bounds of when I should have finished…and the end was nowhere in sight…which led me to the irrefutable conclusion that we were collectively lost.

About that time we spotted a police officer  who was directing stragglers, and queried him about how to…reacquire…the race HQ. “Do you want to stick to the course?” he politely asked, to which we chorused a resounding, “No, thank you! We’ll take the shortest distance, thankyouverymuch!” (At this point I was so tired and discouraged that my mantra became: I just have to come in ahead of that one woman…wearing a potato outfit. I will NOT lose to a spud! I might have been becoming delirious, you think? Eh, it kept my feet moving…) Thus I hauled myself wearily over the Finish Line without even bothering to check my official time, since I’d obviously traveled beyond the prescribed 3.1 miles. When I caught up with Husband, he commented that he’d experienced virtually the same scenario…but was so irritated by the whole snafu that he’d ignored the Finish Line altogether.

So, not what I’d call an altogether well conceptualized…or well planned…shindig. But there were a few perks to brighten things up, due to the aforementioned businesses who shared their wares with the hot, tired…mildly disgruntled…public. Such as: samples of creamy, delicious cashew-based “ice cream”…giveaways of organic energy bars and gluten-free vegan cupcakes…and some homemade truffles that were quite possibly the BEST little bites of chocolate I’ve ever put in my mouth. When you’ve checked off your physical activity—and racked up your 10,000 steps—for the day by 9 a.m., and you’re rewarded with treats like those? There are definitely worse ways to start a Sunday. Besides…then you’re free to go home, relax, and at long last enjoy your delayed COFFEE…yaaaaay!

A little more of the "growing up" stuff (gulp!)

As soon as "the friend group", as Derek calls them, began to turn 16 one by one and get their driver's licenses, they also embarked upon that most sacred of adolescent traditions: obtaining a part-time job. (Because, you know, their parents need one MORE reminder that they're THIS CLOSE to becoming full-fledged adults...cue the inevitable maternal freak out...which--I'm giving you fair warning right now--will very likely continue almost unabated for the next year or so. Hey, you're welcome for the heads-up!)

We did find it amusing that all of these young men gravitated to one particular establishment...a local Subway shop. You see, one of them (who somehow has escaped being assigned an alias yet, so hereafter shall be known as..."Trevor") has an older brother who joined the payroll there a few years ago. He recommended Trevor...who then vouched for Lou...who in turn put in a good word for...um..."Rick". And suddenly Subway was the happening place to be--at least for newly-employed High School students from our neighborhood, anyway.

But not Derek--at least not at first--because Husband and I agreed that he should remain focused on doing well in school, especially given the dire warnings we'd (all) received about the rigors, courseload, and stresses that come along with surviving Junior year. We were leery of having him try to juggle another obligation during the academic months, so we held off until he'd safely and successfully navigated his Final Exams before pushing him to float his name in the applicant pool.

(Practically) the minute those grades were recorded, though, it quickly turned into "Okay, buddy, let's get a move on, and figure out that application process!" And how did Derek feel about this whole endeavor? Let's just say he expressed a bit of...ambivalence. On the one hand, he readily admitted--given the frequency with which he and his pals have been indulging in takeout meals lately--that he would appreciate having some income...that he was earning himself, rather than receiving handouts from the....ahem..."Bank of Mom and Dad".

However, he also confessed that he wasn't tremendously...motivated...to join the Rat Race, as it were, but would much rather maintain the Life of Teenage Leisure that he's enjoyed up to this point. And yes, he does recognize that these perspectives conflict with one another...and also that he's reached an age where he neither can nor should sponge off his parents 100%, when he's perfectly capable of contributing to his own...care and feeding. Then there's the whole "demonstrating responsibility" and "employment looks good on college applications" aspects, and blah blah blah...basically, for many reasons, it was TIME.

So one Sunday night a couple of weeks ago he and I sat down at the computer to fill out the online form--which included all of his basic descriptive and identifying information, of course, but also a lengthy survey that the two of us found utterly hi-larious. You had to respond to a wide variety of questions by selecting options ranging from "strongly agree" to "strongly disagree". Examples of what the Subway Powers That Be wanted to know included: "I get along well with others" (okay, that's falls into the realm of "understandable and relevant" for a workplace); something along the lines of "I will cut corners if necessary to get things done" (Derek and I stared at each other, dumbfounded, until he finally said, "Um...what's the right way to answer that?").

And finally, the one that cracked us up the most, "I often feel joy at work" Seriously? How many of us can honestly answer that in the affirmative? I mean, do I like my job? Sure! Do I find it meaningful and rewarding? Absolutely! But c'mon...JOY? We're not talking about pursuing your lifelong passion or aiming toward bettering the world for humankind...this is SANDWICH MAKING, for crying out loud! (Unless this IS your ultimate goal and it does bring you enormous pleasure, in which case I applaud you and am sincerely delighted that you discovered your calling. Carry on!) For your average teenager seeking entry-level work experience? It might be...a bit much...is all I'm saying...

Anyway, after we double-checked all of  the details and clicked "submit", we just sat back and waited to be contacted for the next step in the hiring hierarchy. And we waited some more...listening to the crickets...nope, still nothing. And then I started wondering: when would it be appropriate to follow-up? It's been decades since my own foray into the..."restaurant environment"...so I'm not exactly sure of the protocol. After some discussion (with Derek firmly on the side of "Moooom, don't bother anyone!" and me weighing in with "Trust me, it's okay to politely ASK, honey."), I convinced him to try calling during business hours and requesting to speak to the manager (Let's see...."Irene" will do). However, when he did, no one answered the phone.

Well, fine! Since the direct approach had failed so thoroughly, our next plan of attack involved the roundabout method of...enlisting Trevor's assistance. (Poor guy, we put him on the spot--but to his credit he was very willing to help us out...maybe because we actually stopped by one day and asked him in person. And he's FAR too well-brought-up to refuse an appeal from someone's mother...) Trevor told us that Irene couldn't find Derek's electronic application, so he went ahead and resubmitted it. (Oy! The trials of the Digital Age...) In the meantime, as the other guys had previously done for one another, Trevor gave Irene a good report about Derek's ability to fulfill the duties of a Subway employee...or something like that.

As we were still twiddling our thumbs several days later, Derek finally broached the subject with me: "Do you think I should just start looking for other jobs? It doesn't seem like this is going to happen." I agreed that this was dragging on, and offered to help him search for something else that same evening...until he jogged up to me a short while later and announced, "Hold that thought--Trevor just texted me that Irene wants me to come in for an interview on Thursday."

Well, hallelujah! Since it would be Derek's very first such appointment of ANY kind, Husband immediately began peppering him with tips about questions he should anticipate, material he'd want to cover in his answers, and how he should phrase his responses. While I was like, "Um...dear? You might want to calm down...it's a temporary, part-time gig at Subway...not a career-building foray into the higher echelons of business...or whatever." My own advice to Derek was much simpler: dress nicely, arrive early, speak intelligently, answer truthfully...and be yourself. And don't worry--you're gonna do great!"

On the big day, I wished him well, requested that he text me when he was done, and crossed my fingers. Not very long after his scheduled meeting time, Derek ended my suspense by relaying the news that he'd been accepted. Yaaaayyyyy! The teenager survived his first hiring experience, and is now gainfully employed! Of course, I plied him for more details when I saw him next, but his only comment was, "Nothing happened!" Confused, I asked him to explain. He clarified, "She didn't really ask me much. I guess she just reviewed what was on my application...and took Trevor's word for it that I could do the job!" Alrighty, then...not necessarily what we expected...but fair enough!

So, to wrap this up: Derek's first official night of...sandwich creation...will be this coming Sunday. Irene said she needs evening coverage, so most of his shifts will occur during that timeframe. And as a result, (drumroll, please)...he can jump into the ranks of those who draw a regular (ish) paycheck...and watch the dough rolling in (or...as much as minimum wage will allow. Nevertheless, it's more than he makes right now, for sure!). Whoo hoo!

A Saturday Excursion--just to mix things up...

Last Summer, Riley's unfortunate incident with a certain broken tibia and the resulting cast/crutches catastrophe prevented the boys and me from taking any of our typical field trips. None. Zip. Zero. Boo hoo! So maybe you can understand my eagerness to kick off the party--um, "enlightening experiences"--this year, with everyone in sound mind and body and whatnot. And would you look at that--already a whole WEEK has passed since school ended! Clearly, it was high time to get out there and...find something...FUN!

I queried the beloved sons about whether they'd be interested in an activity of some kind, and got a thumbs-up from both of them. So far, so good...then I had to go and press my luck by asking, "Well, what would you like to do?" Derek stared at me blankly for a few seconds before replying with a small, sheepish smile, "I kind of hoped you had a plan in mind already." Sigh...of course you did, my delightful teenager. Let me get right on that, while you feel free to pursue your own passion...which suspiciously looks a lot like "vegging out in your room watching SportsCenter highlights".

However much (mild) grief I gave him (just, you know, for appearance's sake), I'd decided some time ago that I wanted to visit the Duke Lemur Center anyway, so I didn't actually have to carry out hours of complex, difficult research or anything crazy like that. Check the schedule and types of programs...make a reservation...aaannnd DONE. It turned out that they had spaces available in the Saturday evening Twilight Tour, so I chose that one, especially because the enthusiastic and helpful lady on the phone told me that the animals are often more active as the sun is setting and the heat of the day is diminishing.

When we arrived, we (and the rest of the group sharing our timeslot) were treated to a super-cheesy-yet-adorable informational film at the Visitor's Center. We learned that the Duke collection of lemurs is the largest in the entire world, outside of Madagascar, their only natural habitat. At the compound, the staff care for the creatures, study them, train them, breed them (there are around 60 different species' left in the wild, and all are endangered)--and of course share an up-close-and-personal view of their behavior with the public.

After the educational portion, we got to stroll around the grounds with a guide (named Anna) and observe some of the fuzzy cuties...chowing down on their dinner fare, scrambling high and low on the wire cages of their enclosures, nimbly leaping from branches to platforms, and sometimes coming over to stare at US with intelligent, curious expressions...which left me thinking, "Man, they soooo look like they want to chat with you--I wish I spoke 'lemur'!"

As a matter of fact, we were treated to several...fascinating....and also slightly scary...demonstrations of the residents' vocal power. Anna had discussed how lemurs do communicate with each other through sounds, and each species even has its own..."dialect", if you will. Therefore, all of the varieties don't necessarily understand each other...but each one has some version of an alarm call.

Well...something set one of them off, causing it to screech piercingly, which then inspired some of its neighbors to add their distinct howls, growls, and barks, until it sounded like we were surrounded by a hostile army of fierce...and yet still inescapably adorable...primates. As we stood and listened to the cacophony, Anna wryly noted that when this happens, the humans in the area might not ever know what triggered the tantrum...or for that matter what generally constitutes a valid reason for the lemurs to YELL...but that in captivity, "They tend to have a bit of the 'drama queen' about them."

And then, as if I weren't entertained enough already, I discovered something that, to me, was worth the entire price of admission. You see, there used to be a kids' show on PBS that I would watch with the boys when they were very small, starring a lemur called Zoboomafoo (and also the nature-loving Kratt brothers, if that helps anyone else recognize it. No? I'm probably alone on this one, but that's okay, I'll continue with my burst of nostalgia...). Martin Kratt attended Duke University, and the featured creature actually lived at the Duke Lemur Center (until his death at age 20 in 2014). WOW! It was like some kind of...almost-brush with greatness, I tell ya! (Maybe in a "six degrees of separation" way? Whatever...I was ridiculously thrilled...)

Finally, we headed back toward our vehicles, full of new facts about Madagascar's most famous exports--and as a bonus, we got one more cool chance to watch the little guys. Some of the animals--depending on factors such as age, health,  mastery of and compliance with training signals--are allowed out into the forest to roam freely, forage for their own meals, and interact with their environment and each other. There happened to be a family group in the trees bordering the parking lot, munching on leaves, swinging from the branches, and generally providing an enjoyable final glimpse into the Life of Lemurs.

As usual, the irresistible combination of nerdy learning opportunity, encounter with the Great Outdoors, and family bonding proved successful. Team WestEnders' first adventure of Summer 2017 is in the books, and we're calling it a WIN!

Aaaannnd, we're out!

June 9th marked the so-called last day of school for the 2016-17 academic year...I phrase it this way because Derek had officially finished the previous morning when he turned in his last exam...and Riley actually only had to attend his 90-minute Promotion Ceremony before being dismissed from the hallowed halls of Middle School for good and ever. (One sec: yaaaaayyyyy! Thanks...)

Cruel and insensitive parental units that we are, Husband and I required the older brother to tag along with us and support his sibling--even though Riley apparently told Derek privately that he was completely indifferent to his presence, and therefore didn't care if he slept in rather than attending. However, when I got wind of this, I informed Derek that that was all very nice, but...tough--you're coming anyway, so suck it up, buttercup! (Or something to that effect...) Derek's reply was a resigned shrug and a mild retort, "Fine. I'm getting up at 8:25, then!" (We were leaving at 8:40, but as long as he was...um..."dressed", I decided I wouldn't protest. Sometimes you've gotta set the bar waaayyy low, ya know?)

So we sent Riley over to the school at his usual time...albeit MUCH more fancily attired than normal. In fact, he'd requested a ride from Husband, rather than walking like he typically does, so that he wouldn't get all sweaty in his dress clothes. Lucky for him he got dropped off at the front door, as it turned out, since by the time the rest of Team WestEnders pulled ourselves together and joined the throng a short while later, finding a parking space anywhere near the building resembled a...shopping mall at Christmas....kind of situation.

Finally we jumped a curb to claim a...technically illegal, I suppose...spot in the grass (like many others had done before us, so we figured, "no harm, no foul"...or much more importantly, "no one's going to bother giving us a ticket, at least during this event") and trooped into the gym for the last time...along with friends and relations belonging to the other 242 8th graders. (Amusingly, the massive crowd included several of Derek's buddies who also have family members in Riley's class, as well as many other High Schoolers that he recognized. So evidently we were NOT the only parents who insisted on making this a Family Activity. Ha!)

Then the actual pomp and circumstance (such as it was) commenced, with the Principal giving an abbreviated version of a graduation address, and expressing appreciation to a number of  parent volunteers and superlative teachers. Next a parade of instructors handed out a slew of awards to deserving students. And finally, when their name was called, each kid was handed a certificate commemorating the culmination of their time in Middle School.

And...then it was all O-V-E-R, folks--the ceremony, the 3 years in Junior High...the whole shebang. I must say, I experienced quite a few emotions during the morning's progression--but shockingly, none of them could be called "sadness". Of course there's no small amount of maternal pride, as he reaches this milestone at the end of a very successful three-year..."career". And then...there's a great deal of SHOCK...that my youngest son is now in High School...and that means there are only four more years until he'll be completely done. (Yikes!)

Okay, okay--if I'm being honest, perhaps there's even a tiny bit of nostalgia, realizing that certain things are now in the past...like attending two separate Back to School nights...or looking up the Supply Lists in August and making that expensive-but-nerdily-satisfying jaunt to Staples to stock up on necessities. (Oh, who am I trying to kid? We loooove us some office supplies, so we'll probably just manufacture an excuse--no matter how flimsy--to take a field trip to Staples anyway...)

Lastly, as I look at the photos I snapped to capture this memory, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude...that Riley formed such a wonderful group of friends during his Middle School years...that he's ready and excited to be moving on to his next adventure...and that his Big Bro will be there to help him navigate the...Freshman waters...in the Fall (which I'm sure Derek will do...along with a certain amount of--hopefully good-natured--"Welcome to High School hazing" that is bound to occur as well...). For now, with all of their obligations behind them, the Westman boys can get down to the crucial task...of starting to enjoy their Summer Vacation. Sooooo....let the fun begin!

Hang on, we're getting there!

Well, folks, we have arrived at a very special Hump Day—the one that falls in the middle of the 36^th and final week of the boys’ academic year. (I’ll just insert a quick but enthusiastic “Whoo hoo!” for them…okay, back to business…) So you might be wondering what, exactly, goes on during the last few days before springing the eager students free for their long-awaited, much-anticipated Summer Break. And the definitive answer is: um…actually, it’s kind of complicated, and depends on which son we’re discussing.

You see, for Derek, Final Exams have begun. When Riley—whose tests were given last week, and are therefore completely finished—seemed flabbergasted by this, he exclaimed, “WHY do they do it at the last minute?” Derek himself responded to this one, with the matter-of-fact explanation: “They know that as soon as exams are over, no one’s showing up for classes anymore, so they push them back as far as possible.”

He has a point, as we’ve figured out from his past two High School years. I remember when he was a Freshman and trying to convince me that the standard procedure was for kids to attend only when they had a test to take, skedaddle as soon as that particular exam block was over—and not show up on the last day of school AT ALL. Although he’s not prone to telling me whoppers, I admit I was…skeptical about his information. Perhaps he misunderstood? But no--that’s how the game apparently runs around here.

So for those of you keeping score at home, here’s Derek’s super-demanding schedule for the week (which I had to write down, so I could keep it straight and not yell at him for missing school in an unauthorized fashion): Monday morning English exam, walk home afterward; Tuesday off day (more on that in a second); Wednesday a relatively challenging Human Body Systems test in the morning and History in the afternoon (meaning he was forced to remain trapped in the halls of learning for the Entire. Day. The horror!); Thursday the dreaded Math assessment in the morning and then…that’s it. As he put it, “Everyone leaves, and it’s just… over.” (Which would sound fairly dramatic…if it weren’t delivered in such a mild tone of voice, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug, by a teenage boy.)

Back to Tuesday, when he would have had his 3^rd and 4^th period Finals: both of these were A.P. Bio slots (lecture and lab), in which he’d already taken the test a month ago, so there was literally no need for him to be in class that day. In fact, his instructor imparted something along the lines of, “I’m not…legally…allowed to tell you to stay home…but I don’t want to take attendance. And THIS is what we’ll be doing (proceeds to stare into space with a vacant expression whilst twiddling his thumbs. Bless his heart--I love this man…you can always count on him to tell it like it is…). Taking this sage advice, Derek opted to use his time wisely…sort of…by sleeping in a little, doing some studying….and spending the rest of his bonus free day hanging out with friends.

Meanwhile, the Middle School regimen couldn’t be much more different. First of all, they got all their exam…toil and trouble…out of the way at the beginning of June, so they could kick back and…honestly, I don’t know WHAT the heck they’re up to this week. Oh, except the 8^th Grade Celebratory Field Trip happened on Tuesday, when those who chose to participate piled onto charter buses at the decidedly un-fun hour of 7:30 a.m. for the 2-1/2 hour drive to Carowinds amusement park. There they would presumably amuse themselves by checking out all the crazy rides, loading up on carnival-type junk food, socializing with their classmates…and hopefully not getting into TOO much mischief.

When Riley returned home, 12 hours after being dropped off, he reported that he’d enjoyed himself…except for one tiny glitch: he discovered (the hard way) that the rollercoasters made him nauseous. Oh, dear…it seems my younger child developed a bit of motion sickness when he hit puberty. Well, now we know: small-to-medium-size boats…and spinning/plunging/twisting thrill rides are RIGHT OUT. (Eh, I think those are easy enough to avoid…if it ever extends to automobiles or airplanes, we’re gonna have a problem, though…) Because of this, he didn’t feel able to eat anything all day, either, so there goes the whole “stuff yourself with funnel cake” plan that Husband had encouraged before he left. Oh well…he had a good time with his peeps, and that’s what counts, right?

Okay, next up: two solid days of…nah, I can’t even imagine what they could possibly do to fill 14 hours, to tell you the truth. Clean out their lockers? Shred old assignments? Help teachers pack up their rooms? Um….grade papers? (Yeah, hopefully NOT!) Anyway, whatever the adults-in-charge come up with to keep them in check, it only has to last until Friday morning, when they’ll be experiencing their 8^th Grade Promotion Ceremony. And yes, because his older sibling is unfettered by any of his own obligations, Husband and I are making him come, to support his brother (or, you know, for the purely “you must get out of bed early on your first day of vacation and sit on hard bleachers for 90 minutes of stuff that will bore you to tears” torture factor…whatever. Parenting has its privileges…mwah hah hah!).

But that’s a post for another day (that would be "Friday"—duh!), and my more immediate need is to devise ways of keeping the boys busy, to prevent them from falling into the bad habit right away of frittering away all of their appealingly empty waking hours. Hmm…there’s ALWAYS laundry to do…they could probably organize the garage….or I could take it in the completely opposite direction, and just JOIN them in their appreciation of leisure. Heyyy…..NOW we’re talking! We’ll see how that goes…

A (New) Middle School Memory

Amidst all the recent hoopla--both academic and extra-curricular--we've been coping with in these parts, it had heretofore escaped my notice that Team WestEnders is about to face yet another somewhat momentous occasion: the conclusion of our collective Middle School Experience. That's right--Riley is sliding into the homestretch, with only one more week left as an 8th grader. With all of his tests and tryouts and whatnot, I suppose it's no wonder this snuck up on us...but now those challenging tasks are behind him, and only the fun stuff remains.

Speaking of which, the first noteworthy event on the calendar happened to be a social activity on Friday night...the 8th Grade Semi-Formal. Attendance at this shindig was not mandatory, of course, so Riley's initial reaction was a predictable, scoffing, "Pffft, I'm not going to that!" But then as the date drew closer he began to contemplate it a little more, and eventually softened his position to the much less definite, "Maybe...it depends on whether my friends are going." Ah, yes, the old adage "there's strength in numbers" remains undeniably true...especially when applied to adolescent males, who feel more comfortable traveling in packs! (And really, who can blame them? 'Cuz Middle School girls can be totally scary, dude! Trust me, I used to BE one, ya know...)

It turned out that the two specific buddies whose support he required to declare himself "in" were in favor of gracing their classmates with their presence, so Operation...I don't know...Boys at the Ball?...was a GO. Great! Now all we needed to do was ensure that Riley had something appropriate to wear. Right...uh-oh. You see, a quick peek into his closet revealed: a polo shirt, and...nope, that's it, nothing else. Hmm, I guess he hasn't had an occasion to dress up in a while, yeah?

In this situation, when you're lacking the recommended attire...but you live in a house with two other guys who are approximately the same size (I know, right! When did that even happen?)...there's only one thing to do: raid your father's and brother's closets. From Derek we obtained a practically new, gently worn pair of dress pants--his only ones, in fact, bought at the beginning of his Sophomore year, when we had to scour the offerings at Kohl's to locate the SINGLE option that would stay up on his scrawny hips (with a belt, no less). Since Derek has filled out since then, and now outweighs Riley by about 20 pounds, they fit the younger kid like they were made for him. (Yep, with a belt...bless my skinny--um, "wiry"--children. And if that hadn't worked, I don't know what we would have done...except maybe go shopping. Thanks goodness it didn't come to that--at least this time!).

Then it was on to Husband's array of shirts and ties, which offered much more variety and the possibility of actually making some choices. Riley was not delighted with the...ahem...let's say "voluminousness" of the button-downs...until he came across one marked as "Slim Fit"....which looked--and felt, apparently--perfect on him. He quickly managed to select a patterned tie that pleased him, and because we'd already conceded to allowing him to wear his recently purchased, pristinely clean sneakers, BAM, wardrobe D-O-N-E. (I've said it before and I'll most likely say it again: in some ways boys are soooooo...uncomplicated!)

With those important decisions out of the way, all that was left to do was figure out a game plan for the night of the gala. Again...BOYS...so they went with the simple and low-key "gather at "Ken's" (not his real name, protecting the innocent, blah blah blah) house, eat pizza, play a little basketball and/or X-Box, throw on our fancy duds, and catch a ride over to school." Easy peasy, right? Sure, except for that one teensy tiny little issue...your mother wants her photo op. (But, that's just so... unexpected! Said no one who's met me, EVER....)

Riley perhaps did let a very small sigh escape his lips...and he might have given me a quick side-eye...and a quietly muttered, "Moooommmm!" But unlike his brother, who fought me tooth and nail over the Prom pictures, he probably figured it was less traumatic to just agree with me and get it over with. (Smart boy! I wouldn't be surprised if he also realized that, since there were no damsels involved in this venture, the potential for embarrassment was really quite low. I mean, who cares if there's photographic evidence of you and your posse acting like goofballs? Eh, that's pretty much business as usual, actually...).

So at the appointed time I strolled over to Ken's with my trusty Nikon to document the four dapper young men on their way to one of their final celebrations of Middle School. And I tell ya, it was like some kind of MIRACLE: they weren't sweaty, or covered in grass, or sporting stains from their last meal...I swear I almost didn't recognize them (including my own kid)! In short, they looked very handsome...even if they couldn't quite camouflage the impish gleam in their eyes as they contemplated just what kinds of mischief they could get into if the dance failed to hold their attention or entertain them sufficiently. (Because, you know, heaven forbid they actually stoop to conversing with the opposite sex, or anything crazy like that....)

Satisfied with my shots, I left them to storm the gymnasium...consume copious amounts of junk food...play some casino-inspired games the PTA was providing...aaannnnd...whatever else one does to pass the time at a school-sponsored soiree of this nature (probably under the heading of "hopefully-harmless youthful hijinks", as previously mentioned). After all, when you're only a Middle Schooler for seven more days, you'd better make the most of it--even if it does mean you have to put on a tie...and risk interacting with girls...for a couple of hours!