Trying something new...kind of...

I began my personal journey as a runner waaaay back at the tender age of 15. Honestly, it kind of still boggles my mind a little bit. You see, I wasn’t what you’d call a particularly athletic kid at that point, but for reasons that remain 100% baffling to me, I got it in my head that it would be cool to…play field hockey. (The only thing I’ve ever been able to speculate is that I had many friends on the team, so they made it sound fun, and I wanted to join them? Because sprinting around and whacking other girls with sticks seemed like a hella good time? I’ve always wished I could go back in time and ask my teenage self what the HECK I was thinking…but I digress…)

So to give you a snapshot of adolescent me, near the end of Freshman year in High School: walking: definitely okay. Riding my bike: sure, no problem. But…picking up the pace to approximate even a, you know, “slow jog”…NOT in my toolbox. As I recall, all these years later, (so I could totally be making it up or mis-remembering, but just go with me on this, ‘kay?) I mentioned my tentative plan to one of the aforementioned pals at lunch one day, and she responded with a vehement, “Okay. Start running now.”

Taken aback by both the conviction with which she delivered this--unsavory, to my somewhat sedentary self--message, and the actual idea of starting a several-month regimen of pre-tryout-training, I asked her whhhhyyy. Her reply was succinct and vivid, “So you don’t throw up at August practices.” Well…alrighty, then. I took her at her word, shrugged, and and went “Eh…guess I’m a runner…type…girl now.” (BTW, her advice was SPOT-ON. Late Summer workouts, in a word, “sucked” due to the heat and humidity that hadn’t yet loosened their grip on our region, combined with the brutally demanding drills our sadistic (kidding) coach set for us. I huffed and puffed, sweated, and griped along with all the other players...but I did NOT puke. So…win? Yeah, why not…)

The point of this convoluted story is that--with the exception of minor injuries here and there in the intervening decades that have interrupted my routine for relatively short periods of time in the grand scheme of things--I’ve been running ever since. Sure, the format has changed on occasion…for example, I realized in my 20s, when I was pounding the pavement as my sole form of exercise, that if I still wanted to, I don’t know…WALK…in years to come, I’d need to mix it up with other forms of movement. I joke that I have to be one of the OG cross-trainers, because I went from exclusively jogging, to an eclectic program of walking, biking, fitness classes (hello, 80s step aerobics…you were super-entertaining for a while) and even (eventually) strength conditioning.

In short, this probably saved my knees--which one day might still degenerate to the point that my father’s have, no matter how much I do to prevent it…but…and I cannot stress this enough…not this decade, you (only moderately cranky) old joints!

Now, you might be wondering at this juncture why I never took the next logical step, if you will, and just moved my running habit from the sidewalks, onto softer surfaces. The answer is actually fairly simple: ever since I first set sneakers to asphalt, my natural stride has been a forefoot strike. (Yes, even in cleats. Hence my hockey nickname: “the twinkletoes back”. Trust me, it’s kind of difficult to be all “fierce, intimidating warrior woman” with that stuck to you…but I did my best….) And my sports career on grass fields quickly taught me that uneven terrain and I…are not besties, since my uncooperative ankles have a disturbing tendency to turn when they encounter a pothole, bump, or basically any other minor malformation of the turf.

Okay, fast forward to the present. (I know, right: thank goodness she’s probably, maybe, hopefully getting to the murky purpose of this little trip down memory lane.) The house we chose when Team WestEnders relocated to NC sits right next to a lovely piece of forested land, criss-crossed with many paths used by outdoor enthusiasts of all kinds. I myself take long rambles in there, amongst the trees, quite frequently. However, the trails--while utterly scenic and delightful--are left in their natural state, aside from some weed clearing to keep them passable. This translates to copious amounts of rocks, roots, branches, etc.--in park terms, essentially an…ungroomed geographic situation.

As we’ve already established, for me this would just be a broken bone, sprain--or at the very least, face plant--waiting to happen. So I accept my limitations, and keep it to a brisk stroll when enjoying the woods. But then… some bootcamp buddies mentioned an upcoming event, whose name caught my attention: the Zen Squirrel Trail Race. And….the logo is a cute little creature in a yoga pose. I mean, c’mon…how could you NOT want an article of clothing with that adorableness on it? And yet…there remains the sticky issue of me…and off-road trotting…and the potential for injury/maiming/death. (Right, not the last one, most likely. But who needs to take that chance, amiright?) 

However, one of our bootcamp gang mentioned that she was going to sign up for the 2-mile option…and take it at a walking pace (due to similar concerns as mine…namely “falling down”). Suddenly it appeared that I might have a reasonable excuse to participate after all…plus a partner with whom I could share the inevitable “last place finish”. (Because, who cares? It’s All. About. The Shirt.)

You know where this is going, right? Of course I registered for that bad boy (and reserved my tee…whee!). Also of interest to me, it was happening in a place I’d never been before--a huge, swanky neighborhood on the outskirts of Chapel Hill. Furthermore, on race day I discovered that the development hosting the shindig boasted some pretty sweet paths for its residents’ recreational use. I’m talking wide, decently smooth, and obviously kept in excellent condition.

Traveling along these tracks after the starting gun sent us off, my fellow amblers and I encountered a plethora of cheerful volunteers, pointing the way in a most helpful manner (thereby preventing any chance of rogue wanderers straying and becoming lost, because no one likes to misplace a participant, ya know?). Bonus: because we weren’t zipping past them, they made an extra effort to greet us with some encouraging words and a bit of friendly chatter as well. (Or maybe they secretly felt sorry for the Back-of-the-Pack. Eh, we had chosen our fate, and were fine with it…or whatever…)

As a matter of fact, I’d have to say that the overall support was really stellar. For example, they had people stationed at the finish line, holding clipboards with the roster of entrants, checking bib numbers and matching them to their list….so that when you crossed, they could congratulate you…BY NAME. Seriously, I was so startled when I heard someone yell “Good job, Johna--way to go!” that I almost tripped. (Honestly….made it through the hard part, yet nearly wiped out by an unexpected shower of kindness. Only me…) And don’t get me started on the buffet waiting for hungry finishers. Breakfast burritos and outstanding coffee from a local cafe, chips, granola bars, trail mix, fresh fruit, cookies, an assortment of cold beverages…it was impressive…generous…and yummy.

So…to wrap up…(Warning! Dangerous, possibly ill-advised scheme hatching) as I meandered the prescribed route laid out by the organizers, chatting and sauntering along, it occurred to me that it might just be a tame enough trail to consider…attempting to…run it next year.

Yeah, yeah…GASP! Have you even been listening to yourself? What are you thinking? Does someone need to smack you upside the head? Folks, these are all perfectly valid questions (that I’m going to pretend you asked, so it doesn’t seem like I’m talking to myself. Which almost…never…happens. Or…I do it all the time… so what?) The way I see it, I have another 11 months or so to either commit to this cockamamie notion--or discard it as ridiculous. Either way, I’mma be out there next September, earning another piece of apparel adorned with a peaceful…yard pest. So let’s hear it: meditating rodents FTW, y’all!

A tale of transportation...

I think it was about a year ago--when Derek had a job and Riley was getting his Learner's Permit--that I first broached the subject of acquiring another vehicle for Team WestEnders. Thanks to the older son, this quickly earned the moniker Operation TFC (Third Family Car...catchy, right?). However, Husband was vehemently opposed at the time, insisting it was unnecessary, we could manage without, blah blah blah. Regardless of the dissension in the ranks, if you will, I went ahead and searched for one anyway, but I wasn't able to locate anything that met some pretty strict criteria (more on that later), so eventually I gave up in defeat...at least temporarily.

Fast forward to the myriad logistical difficulties the college kid is currently experiencing: living off-campus in a complex with an inconveniently limited, unreliable shuttle...situated in an area lacking retail options, and not served by city buses...and too far away to walk to school. Suddenly, when faced with the possibility of disasters such as, I don't know, "failing Organic Chemistry" (if unable to join extra study sessions on weekends) or "starving" (if prevented from obtaining supplemental food to get through non-dining-hall hours) Husband took a running leap right the heck on over to the TFC Club.

Alrighty, then, let’s get to it, shall we? Now, some of the preferred parameters for this automobile remained the same from my first go-around. For example, we agreed that we were seeking a 4-door, medium-sized, sedan-type non-gas-guzzler. And we weren’t particularly picky about the model year, as long as it came with as low mileage as possible.

Ironically, the one thing Husband and I had to haggle about was how much moolah we were willing--and seemed reasonable--to spend. Because the previous Mr. “why pay for something we don’t need” flipped his tune and became all “let’s get one that’ll last through the rest of Derek’s undergraduate career…and then Riley’s as well!” Meanwhile, as the Household Financial Manager I had to talk him down off the…Precipice of Extravagance…and rein his ambitions back into the more boring….yet comfortable…Realm of Affordability.

Anyway, once we settled on a hard budget cap, we started hitting up good old Carmax to see what was available. And the disappointing answer was…not a whole lot, at our price point. So I decided to explore other avenues, such as AAA; I knew they offered a car buying service, but I had no idea what it entailed. Well, apparently you call them, have a one-on-one conversation with a representative about what you’re in the market for...and they try to find it for you.

From what I gathered in talking with my new friend Larry, they check their existing inventory, which is comprised of trade-ins from AAA members. One obvious advantage of using an organization like this is that they’re staking their reputation on providing valuable benefits to their paying constituency. Also, they’ve obviously built their entire business empire around motorized transportation, so presumably they’re going to employ folks with lots of expertise in that area. All of this inspires confidence--as did my interaction with Larry, who was a wealth of information gained over 20-some years of automotive industry experience.

Whew! Then we just crossed our fingers and waited for Big L to contact us with some good news…which he did, several days later. He sent me links to 4 contenders…3 of which we dismissed immediately (2 small SUVs and a V6 Lexus…uh, no thanks!). But the fourth…was a Honda Civic…which is kind of what we were hoping for anyway, to be honest. It ticked all the important boxes, so once Larry gave it his personal thumbs-up…we just had to put down a deposit over the phone, and it would be ours!

Seriously--as long as you’re okay with trusting AAA, and purchasing a car without personally driving it yourself, it cannot be easier to do it this way. They serviced, washed, and filled it up with gas…and drove it to our house (from the central office…in Charlotte!). They even file all the paperwork for you, so (GET THIS, y’all) I don’t even have to Set. Foot. In the DMV, since everything will come to us in the mail. That itself might be worth the price of admission, as they say…whoo hoo!

So there we were after the delivery dude left…proud new owners of the shiny 2010 Civic in our driveway. (Incidentally, I immediately dubbed it Marshmallow, because…well, just look at it, guys. How could you NOT? Derek naturally disagreed…adamantly. But in my head? Marshmallow from now on…you can’t stop me…don’t even try….) Larry had told me it was a proverbial “little old lady” car, and after inspecting it myself, I totally believe him. This thing is in pristine condition, and you’d never guess it was 9 years old (except maybe for the fact that it has a CD player…LOL!).

After we informed Derek--who was over the moon with happiness and relief and gratitude when he heard--the next task was clearly to get the 4-wheeled white wonder down to Columbia. (Ooh…Wonder Bread! Another solid potential nickname!) I’ll spare you the absolutely dizzying array of methods we considered and just give you the winner: I would convey…Caspar the Civic (Yeah! I’m en fuego, amigos…) to South Carolina, spend a few hours with my child (feeding him, of course), and then catch a bus back north. This leg of the journey would end in Raleigh, where Husband would pick me up and whisk me the rest of the way back to Chapel Hill. The only speed bump in this agenda? The fastest carrier had only one route a day leaving from anywhere near UofSC…at 8 p.m. It therefore would roll into the Triangle around midnight, with another 40 minutes required to finish the trek home. Um…yaaaay for…adventure? Suuuure, we’ll go with that… 

I passed a mostly pleasant and uneventful 4 hours on the road to the Other Carolina, after which I enjoyed an enthusiastic reunion with Derek. We had several hours at our disposal to catch up, address To Do items (mainly procuring parking passes for the apartment and university lots), take advantage of the uncharacteristically temperate weather to meander the Riverwalk near his complex, and grab dinner and a post-meal stroll in town, before heading to the bus rendezvous point.

You see, this was not a “Greyhound station” kind of deal. The cut-rate company that I bravely signed up for had us convening in a parking lot…near a somewhat shady looking establishment called…Flaming Grill Supreme Buffet. (I swear, I couldn’t make this up if I tried, people…) The operator had a piece of paper with what appeared to be hastily scribbled confirmation numbers that he checked off when you showed him your ticket. Also, he didn’t seem to speak much English. But when I hesitantly inquired as to whether there was a bathroom on the bus, he was able to tell me I could use the one in the restaurant (which turned out to be--not surprisingly--fairly nasty).

Folks, I’m not gonna lie…while part of me was giggling internally at the somewhat preposterous state of affairs I’d voluntarily gotten myself into…another, more rational portion was recoiling in horror and wondering whether I’d actually survive this odyssey. Derek and I shared a brief chuckle about how--whatever the corporation is actually called--if they had any interest in being transparent with their clients, it should be known as… Sketchy Bus. Then he sobered up enough to make me promise to text him when I arrived. (Proving the adage that there’s a first time for everything…also an amusing turnabout of the parent/child relationship…if not for the palpable sense of impending doom…or what have you…)

So I entered the Coach of No Return (literally, since I was going one-way--thank heavens!), picked a seat, and settled down for the duration. The interior was…threadbare….maybe clean? Hard to tell, honestly…and smelled ever-so-faintly of cigarettes and pee (which at least for the smoke odor could have been attributed to some of the other riders, since they darted outside to get their nicotine fix every time we stopped. I have no comment about the other…aroma…). The website boldly promised Wi-Fi, but the signal was never good enough for me to watch videos on my phone, so that was a bust. (I know, I know: my expectations should reeeaaallly have been MUCH lower by now…)  

Although we pulled into gas stations approximately every hour to take on more passengers, I suppose the one thing I was thankful for was the fact that I never had to give up the empty seat next to me, where I’d placed my backpack for easy access. Otherwise, it was…an interesting expedition…which I plan to NEVER repeat. Obviously I accomplished my mission, and triumphantly disembarked at yet another fill-up-joint in Raleigh--which was lit up like a carnival, with pop tunes blasting from the outside speakers…at 12:10 a.m. It just put the cap on a whole night of surreal, I’m tellin’ ya…

But my Uber--I mean Husband--was there to rescue me from the weird, listen to me rant about all the nonsense I’d encountered, and most critically, ferry me to my cozy bed after a hella long day of travel. It was a mighty quest, to bring Sir Sophomore his snowy steed. (Snowball! Jeez, there’s another one! Someone turn off my brain now…) But now, we A-L-L get to reap the rewards of an independently mobile student: not only can he attend to his personal and academic needs in and around his neighborhood, but he can chauffeur himself back and forth from breaks, without a parental unit having to commit 8 hours for the round-trip. In short, everyone WINS! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on…please cross your fingers with me, in hopes that I’m not plagued by nightmares of creepy death buses…thankyouverymuch!

Row, row, row your...(insert preferred water vehicle) gently around the...lake!

Undaunted by the fact that in our modern era Labor Day signals the sentimental end of Summer, our merry little band of intrepid Bootcamp Adventurers nevertheless pushed bravely forward with a September Field Trip. After all, Mother Nature follows her own schedule, regardless of the calendar--and around here, that means we know to expect the sweltering weather to continue unabated for probably about another month anyway. So why not take ourselves to a nearby lake for some on-the-water fun-in-the-sun?

I was especially excited about this one, since we'd be renting out a transportation mode of choice: either a kayak or a paddleboard. I've been keen to try the latter for some time now, so I squashed down a (small, manageable amount of) trepidation, slathered on sunblock, perched my hat jauntily on my head to shade my eyes, hiked up my big-girl bathing suit, and gave it a shot.

Why the slight misgivings, you might wonder? Well you see, I'm not what you'd call...the splash-around-without-a-care...mermaid type. I mean, I can swim...it's just that there's something about being in an open expanse of water that makes me a bit nervous. So when they informed us that you were required to take a life jacket with you, whether you chose to leave it sitting next to you or wear it, you can bet I clipped that puppy on immediately. Admittedly I felt mildly foolish...but also tons more secure...so it was clearly a worthy trade-off, for me at least.

Then I could relax about the safety issue, and focus on the more important matter at hand: figuring out what the HECK I was supposed to be doing up on that big old slab of fiberglass. Okay, let's see, here. Slide it into the shallows, fin up: check. Take it out to about knee-deep and flip it over: check. Place butt in approximate correct location (as instructed by our Fearless Leader, whose guidance was invaluable to this newbie, by the way). And now, folks, for the truly tricky step...carefully, slowly...rise to standing.

Needless to say, some wobbling occurred while hauling myself from a seated to an upright position...while adjusting to the rocking of an object on an uneven surface. Thus I was soooo pleased with myself upon achieving Homo Erectus status--for about a second, until the next challenge of, you know, "moving". Now I just had to maintain my posture while propelling myself with an oar taller than me, switching it from side to side to go forward, rather than in circles. Hah! No problem, yeah? Sure...until I forgot, somehow, that I was bobbing on an expanse of liquid, and blithely turned my torso to photograph one of our buddies in action. Holy Rock the Boat, Batman, that was a near-dunking situation, right there! Message received: face front at all times, and keep excess twitching to a minimum! (I was still able to snap pictures, just much more cautiously...)

Honestly, the most difficult aspect was that I'm not naturally possessed of a set of "sea legs", if you know what I mean? Thus, in order to feel like I was firmly anchored on my floating conveyance, I found myself gripping the board with my toes, and keeping my calf and quad muscles tensed...which over time causes some serious fatigue, as you can imagine. Add to that the repetitive upper body motion of pushing the paddle through the H2O, and you have one heck of a full-body workout, my friends! Oh, and also, a SUPER-FREAKIN'-AWESOME experience.

After our entire group had ventured out away from the shore--evenly divided between kayakers and SUPers--we were free to meander wherever our hearts desired, for our 2-hour recreational window. So we chatted, and glided...and occasionally plopped down and rested (as shown!), and a couple of courageous folks vacated their crafts to swim for a while. I did not...mostly because I was concerned about how much trouble I might have getting back on the board from the water. However, I did get to practice lowering myself down and getting back up, which was very useful!

Let me tell ya, it was an altogether delightful way to spend a Saturday morning. Bonus time with some of my favorite fitness pals...a stunningly warm and sunny late-season weather gift, introduction to a new skill, invigorating physical activity in the Great Outdoors, an abundance of fresh air and a temperate lake. Have I missed anything? Oh yeah, the greatest part of all: I. Did. NOT. Fall. In! We're already talking about our next outing, since several people who wanted to join us couldn't, due to schedule conflicts. Hopefully we'll get back out there before too long, so I retain some of what I learned, and don't have to start all over again. How about I just consider it a journey toward earning my water sports badge...one stroke at a time!

So far, I'd give us...a solid B? (With room for improvement...)

Since the teenage members of Team WestEnders have found themselves back in the hallowed halls of learning...or what have you...for a couple of weeks now, it seems like a good time for an update on the early school year shenanigans.

Let's start with the undergraduate, since his semester kicked off first. First of all, you might recall that he needed to make a schedule change, since one of his evening classes wrapped up later than his apartment complex's shuttle bus stopped running, which would obviously make it difficult for him to return home afterwards. With no time to spare before the opening bell, as it were, he did manage to secure a meeting with an academic adviser, and was able to simply switch to another section of the same subject, in an earlier time slot. This allowed him to stay on track with the requirements for his major, without derailing the timeline in any way. Whew!

However...in one of our Sunday conversations, he confessed that his troubles in that particular area of study might be just beginning. You see, it's Organic Chemistry. (Was that a collective groan I heard? For a topic with a well-earned a reputation for being notoriously challenging--even amongst us non-science-y types?) The way he described it, "It's the first time I've ever felt like I have an equal chance of failing the class, as I do of passing it." Well...yikes, dude! Revving right into full-blown Mom/Nerd Squad mode, I immediately queried him as to whether there would be opportunities for support outside of classroom hours. He replied that there would indeed be tutoring meetups...but that they were generally set for Sundays.

Aaaannnd, this leads us neatly to our next thorny issue: sometime during the first week of being back on campus, Derek discovered that the aforementioned transportation that travels back and forth between his residence and the university....doesn't run on weekends. (I know, right? What the WHAT? How freakin' not-helpful is that?) This impacts not only his ability to attend those Chem groups, but also other important aspects of his life, such as getting to a dining hall to enjoy that delightful meal plan we paid for (with the goal of making his life easier...ha!). Oh, and also using the library, the student rec center for workouts, etc.

Add to this the fact that--as I confirmed for myself when helping him move in--there is literally nothing within walking distance of his apartment, and according to Derek, their street isn't included on public bus routes because it's technically just outside the city limits. This means that the simple act of obtaining stuff like, you know, "food" and "personal care items" requires waiting for a roommate or buddy to plan a trip, and asking to tag along for the ride--not ideal, to say the least. In short, given this host of newly identified logistical difficulties tied to the off-campus lifestyle, Husband and I are scrambling to revisit the idea of providing a vehicle for the college dude. After all, it really is the little things that matter...succeeding at Chemistry so you only have to suffer through it once...being able to chow down at regular and consistent intervals...and maintaining a socially acceptable level of cleanliness and hygiene!

Anyway, it sounds as though the rest of his courses should be benign. For example, he sounded positively gleeful when discussing Finite Math, since at the first session, he noticed what he determined to be a fair number of athletes (basing his conclusion on their physical attributes and sporty clothing, so take that with a big old grain of salt. I'm not saying he's wrong, however, as he has good instincts for this kind of thing...). To him, this marks it as a "shadow class"--to those unfamiliar with NCAA scandals in recent years, this typically signifies easy subject matter...and high grades...populated by players wanting to pad their transcripts...without working very hard.

On the other hand, he spent several minutes talking about his Psychology professor, who apparently speaks 5 languages, has earned multiple Ph.D.s, and when not teaching, runs her own clinic. Day-um! Too bad it's so far away, because I'd love to sit in on that one! (As if that wouldn't utterly mortify my child...eh, whatever...maybe she offers an online version? Mwah hah hah...)

And speaking of trauma (not really, but I lacked a segue and decided to be lazy), shall we move on to Riley's Junior year? (Ack! Still not used to saying that, nor quite ready to process it as reality...yet we must take a deep breath and forge ahead...) He and I did chat (okay, "debate"...but politely!) at length about the courses he wanted to register for this year. But that was waaaay back in, like, March, so I'd honestly forgotten what his preferred schedule would look like, by the time the actual placements were made and the information was released to the students in late August. As it happened, the AP Physics he tried to get into wasn't offered, due to insufficient enrollment. Since that was supposed to be a 2-period affair, the Powers That Be instead plugged Riley's 2 alternates into the empty spaces.

Would you believe that we'd never experienced this phenomenon before, since Derek invariably got all of his Top 7, every year? So it was a new situation for us, when Riley's daily agenda came back with the addition of...AP Statistics (hmm, an extra math he was planning to take as a Senior anyway...I suppose that's fine) and also AP Environmental Science...joining the AP Lang(uage), APUSH (U.S. History), and AP Chem on his first-ballot selections. Even on paper, from the outside looking in rather than the person who was actually going to have to keep up with all this material, this seemed like...rather a lot.

Riley came home after the first day back, went straight into his workout routine, then disappeared into his bedroom afterwards without so much as a peep. I heard papers rustling, and what sounded like frustrated muttering, so I poked my head in to cautiously test the prevailing atmosphere, if you will. He raised his head, fixed me with a slightly wild-eyed expression, and declared, "I've gotta change my schedule. I can't do this. It's gonna KILL me!" In case I'd somehow failed to appreciate the full force of his previous statement, he tacked on, "I thought about taking AP Lang and APUSH and APES in the same year, and I just went, 'Hell, no!'" Now, you may not know Riley, but let me inform you that this was the Very. First. Time I'd EVER heard him utter even that most mild of innocuous swear words in my presence. Clearly, it was time to leap into action and talk this kid down from the proverbial ledge, I tell ya.

Once I'd assured him I was 100% on his side, and recognized the wisdom in postponing APES until 12th grade, I gently mentioned that the least disruptive way to avoid messing with his otherwise acceptable sequence of periods and array of teachers was to simply fill the empty hour with...a handy-dandy Study Hall. And whattya know...he agreed with me! The reason it's such a big deal--and so amusing to me--is because I've literally been suggesting that he allow some downtime in the rigorous study plan he arranges for himself...for 3 solid years. Then Derek and I had a good laugh about this together, because he was the self-proclaimed King of Study Hall, taking full advantage of the opportunity to pad his academic day...all the way through Senior year.

So Riley submitted the change form immediately (with a lengthy, well-written explanation for why this particular mix of subjects wasn't a good fit, etc...which I'm sure entertained the counselors, when they're probably used to "because it's too hard" or "I don't like it"), got approved, and was able to seamlessly transition to his new agenda by the second day. Crisis. Averted. (Oh, and sanity preserved...for all of us!)

And there you have it: a brand new term with everybody getting all edu-ma-cated...and stuff. There are still a few kinks to work out, obviously, but all-in-all, I think we're off to a strong start. And now, we've arrived at the weekend...so excuse me while I go read something totally for fun, or better yet, watch some trashy TV. Whoo hoo for Adult Homework! (Wait, that sounds bad...but you know what I mean! Hulu, here I come...)