As a parent, there are many opportunities--every day, in fact--to make mistakes. These can run the gamut from completely inocuous ("oops, I forgot to pack your lunch for school") to Lifetime-of-Therapy level ("sorry, honey, I forgot mention that we found you as an infant in the woods being raised by wolves and took you in"). Fortunately, most of the blunders fall in the garden-variety "geez, I wish I could take that back" category. For example, I can't even count the number of times I've heard myself lecturing or reprimanding one of the boys, as though I was an outsider observing the conversation (Parental Out-of-Body Experience, very X-Files) and fervently wished I could just stop talking right now. It's as though I can recognize, from that spot over in the corner where I'm watching, that I'm being too harsh, or too sarcastic, or just beating the subject into the ground unnecessarily. Then I'd like to swallow the words right back up, rewind, take a breath, and start over.
Riley and I had one of those encounters the other day. He was trying to pull the foil cover off an individual-serving cup of applesauce, probably talking at the same time and not paying full attention to the task (this IS Riley, after all.) Anyway, he had to tug really hard, and when the lid finally came free with a jolt, it splashed applesauce all over the floor. Not a big deal, right? "Of course not! It could happen to anyone, we can wipe that right up in 2 seconds!" That's how I SHOULD have handled it. Instead, irritated already from the long morning of refereeing rumbles and squelching brotherly bickering, I snapped at Riley. "Can't you be more careful, you do this all the time, (and here comes the Mother of all Final Insults) you are the worst applesauce-opener in the world!" It sounds ridiculous, and another kid might have laughed it off and broken the tension, but Riley is ultra-sensitive and easily-injured. And even as the sentence was hurtling out of my mouth, I already wanted to snatch it out of the air before it reached his ears and hurt his feelings. But it was too late, as his eyes filled with tears, his lip quivered, and he stomped out of the kitchen, leaving the sad pile of applesauce and his regretful Mom.
This is one of those times that I think "thank goodness for boys"...because after a brief cooling-off period in his room, Riley resumed playing as though nothing had ever happened. I calmly told him he could eat his applesauce when he was ready, and that seemed to be the end of it (except for the guilt still gurgling in my gut, but as a Mom, I'm somewhat used to this by now). However, at the end of the day, Riley came into my room to find me, sat down, gazed into my eyes very seriously and said, "I forgive you for saying I'm the worst applesauce-opener in the world, Mom." Feeling completely awed by his thoughtfulness and generosity, I hugged my not-quite-seven-year old tightly. And as we put this incident behind us, I am grateful for the resilience of kids in general, the non-grudge-holding nature of my own boys, and the universal healing power of forgiveness. (Also the fact that this turned out not to be a Lifetime of Therapy Offense! Whew!)
Monday, July 12, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
It's Like a Heat Wave (I'm Martha, they're the Vandellas : )
Remember oh-so-long ago--like, say, February--when here in Maryland we were busy shoveling heavy, deep mounds of snow…again? When we thought we were safe, after surviving “Snowpocalyse” in December, yet found ourselves struggling once more just to clear a path wide enough to walk…ANYWHERE outside our front door for some fresh air (and to escape yet another day of forced confinement with our beloved family)? When we fought valiantly to find a spot to heap more of the white stuff, since we had already created drifts higher than our heads? When we had to come up with another creative name to describe the catastrophic winter conditions? (“Snowmageddon”) When we prayed that the kids would please, please go back to school sometime before Easter? When we couldn’t imagine a landscape that wasn’t blindingly white, or a time that we would ever be warm all-the-way-through again?
Well, the old adage “Be careful what you wish for” seems mighty timely right now, as we swelter through Summer in Hades—I mean Olney. Temperatures for the next week are predicted to fall in the sticky 95 to 100 degree range, which as far as I am concerned, is just very, very wrong (in fact, triple-digits should be illegal...anyone know who I call about that?) Did Maryland get picked up and scooted a little closer to the equator while I was sleeping? Did our forecast get mixed up with the one for Texas, or Arizona? Because I need to blame this ridiculous heat on someone, and that someone will be fired, as soon as I find them!
And don't get me started on the Air Quality, which is listed as Code Orange. Yes, observant readers, this is the same scale they use for Terror Alerts. While it may not be a matter of National Security, from the data gathered on my Test Subjects (ie: Self and Sons), I can report that breathing the wet-blanket atmosphere can actually pose quite a threat, in the form of Intense Stuffiness and Violent Sneezing. Even the normally hardy, play-'til-you-drop boys are balking at venturing outside in this. When I suggested stepping out for a short walk today, Derek peered at me very seriously and uttered his one-word reply, "Hot." (I took this to mean a very firm "no" from the amount of feeling he managed to convey in that lone syllable.) I tried running it by Riley as well, but after a brief moment of consideration he responded, "No, I'm really more of an indoor person." (Um, that's news to me...since when, yesterday?) Here's a true measure of how yucky (professional meteorological term, don't you know) it is: they don't even want to go to the POOL. Yikes.
So we resorted to the wimpy-but-effective strategy I like to call the A.C. Sprint. To do this, you run from the cool house to the climate-controlled car to a frigid store and repeat until either your errands are done or you're at least satisfied that you "got out" for the day. Upon returning home, you renew your desperate hopes that the blasted Heat Wave will end soon, and the temperate, breezy Summer (that we earned by patiently freezing and shoveling during the Winter, right?) will arrive and stay. If not, it's gonna be a looong summer inside, kiddies!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The All-Olney Tennis Club (Wimbledon, it is NOT)!
Although it seems distant and unreal to me now, I was a bit of a pudgy, awkward, unathletic kid until I finally unearthed my inner Sport Chick around the time I hit middle school. However, one thing I always remember enjoying--even in my early, anti-exercise days--is tennis. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't required to run up and down the length of a field...or perhaps it was the jaunty ponytails and crisp, perfectly-coordinated outfits the cute pro-girls wore...but somehow with a racket in my hand I didn't mind sweating in the summer sun on a baking-hot asphalt court, chasing balls around in circles. The satisfying thwack of a well-hit shot as it skimmed over the net gave me a thrill that made it all worthwhile.
And I still love it to this day, when I have the time (and energy...and a partner!) to play. So last summer I was sooo pleased when Derek (then age 9) expressed an interest in taking up the sport (no surprise, really, since he plays absolutely everything else involving a ball already, and must leave no game untried!) I gave him an old racket of mine, and we headed off to the courts near our house to give it a whirl. We only managed to practice a few times last summer, but by the time school started again I could already tell that my days of "taking it easy on him" were going to be very limited...as in "over before you know it." Although he's average height, and has always been on the skinny side, he possesses that enviable, can't-be-taught quality: Natural Athleticism. This works both for and against him in some ways, though; he picks up sports with astonishing ease and progresses quickly, but he also expects to start playing immediately at the level of, say, Andy Roddick.
Right at this moment, the benefit of my size and experience means that my strokes are stronger, and more accurate, and more consistent than his, of course. But he already, at age 10, comes up to my chin. And he's starting to show the tall, lanky, long-armed-and-legged build of his father. And he's ridiculously quick on his feet. I see him getting just a little better each time we face each other. So in a year or two, he's going to be able to get to everything I hit over the net, and his technique will have improved to the point that he can return all of my shots. I only hope that by then, since he will be just a little bit older and wiser, he will also have figured out that Good Sportsmanship, at least in the friendly, family game of tennis means: "not beating up on Mom"!
And I still love it to this day, when I have the time (and energy...and a partner!) to play. So last summer I was sooo pleased when Derek (then age 9) expressed an interest in taking up the sport (no surprise, really, since he plays absolutely everything else involving a ball already, and must leave no game untried!) I gave him an old racket of mine, and we headed off to the courts near our house to give it a whirl. We only managed to practice a few times last summer, but by the time school started again I could already tell that my days of "taking it easy on him" were going to be very limited...as in "over before you know it." Although he's average height, and has always been on the skinny side, he possesses that enviable, can't-be-taught quality: Natural Athleticism. This works both for and against him in some ways, though; he picks up sports with astonishing ease and progresses quickly, but he also expects to start playing immediately at the level of, say, Andy Roddick.
Right at this moment, the benefit of my size and experience means that my strokes are stronger, and more accurate, and more consistent than his, of course. But he already, at age 10, comes up to my chin. And he's starting to show the tall, lanky, long-armed-and-legged build of his father. And he's ridiculously quick on his feet. I see him getting just a little better each time we face each other. So in a year or two, he's going to be able to get to everything I hit over the net, and his technique will have improved to the point that he can return all of my shots. I only hope that by then, since he will be just a little bit older and wiser, he will also have figured out that Good Sportsmanship, at least in the friendly, family game of tennis means: "not beating up on Mom"!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Disarmament (sorry!)
Everyone has their own personality quirks--I'm not talking here about dark, twisted secrets or the proverbial skeletons in the closet--just some aspect of the Total Self that doesn't entirely mesh with the rest. Like the well-educated woman who should read the many classic works of literature she hasn't gotten to yet...but vastly prefers the collected works of J.K Rowling (oh wait...that's me). Or the clean-living, healthy-eating woman who is also a chocoholic (um, yeah...me again). Anyway, what I actually meant to confess is: I'm a total non-violent, anti-war, pacifist-peacenik...with a strange penchant for visiting Civil War sites. I have no idea where this fascination came from, unless it started when I read Gone with the Wind approximately 17 times as a teenager. And I don't particularly care about battlefield logistics or strategy--whose regiment attacked on what hill or which battalion was outflanked and retreated down what road--I just enjoy photographing cannons...and meandering through graveyards...and seeing history recreated in buildings that were constructed 150 years ago.
In my travels I've hit some of the "biggies" in the War Between the States: Gettysburg, Antietam, Monocacy, Manassas, Vicksburg, Appomattox, Harper's Ferry, to name a few. Yet somehow, even though it's only 70 miles away, even though my late Great Uncle Jere and Great Aunt Phoebe owned the second oldest house in the city, I had thus far failed to explore Fredericksburg, Virginia. So when my family was away this past weekend, and the Road Trip Bug bit me, I headed into the South for an educational field trip.
First stop: Chancellorsville--which would have been a stupefyingly boring waste of time (lots of big empty fields, marked by plaques describing troop movement....YAWN) if it weren't for the ultra-helpful and friendly Park Ranger who took the time to give me a brief history lesson. As he handed me my useful National Park Service map, he pointed out that, if I chose to make a small side trip, I could visit the Wilderness Battlefield. And just why would I want to do this, you may wonder? Because: General "Stonewall" Jackson's arm is buried there. To be perfectly clear: not the whole body, just the ARM...WITH A HEADSTONE*. Now I ask you, how could I possibly miss this? It's just so compelling, in a delightfully bizarre and macabre sort of way!
Clearly, this needed to become a priority of my excursion. I found the scene of the...um..."internment", Ellwood House, tucked at the end of a quiet, winding country lane. Hoping to leave behind the (stifling, 100-degree) heat of the day for a few blessed minutes of air-conditioning, I opened the front door; immediately three nice older gentlemen welcomed me and leaped to my assistance. The first Retired Volunteer led me to the "parlor" which had been reconstructed down to the most minute, exact details, using correspondence that described the room as it appeared during wartime meetings in 1863. In his quiet, gentle southern voice (in which "eighteen-sixty foh-uh" has 6 syllables--say it out loud and you'll hear what I mean!), with hands folded across his portly frame, he shared some of the colorful history of the property. He was an absolute treasure.
Then his partner, a silver-haired, distinguished-professor type, instructed me in the use of the interactive film clips in the next room. When I had dutifully listened to the presentation and absorbed all the facts and lore I could, I prepared to venture back out onto the grounds. The Professor followed me onto the porch and, with twinkling eyes and a sly sidelong look, whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "are you going to see The Arm?" It didn't seem polite or respectful to snicker (no matter how much I wanted to), so I earnestly assured him I was about to do just that, and he pointed me in the right direction and wished me well.
So of course, I proceeded to the small graveyard to...pay my respects? gawk in utter amazement? marvel at the absurdity? (a little bit of all of these, as a matter of fact). The General's arm is marked by the only headstone in that tiny cemetery, and once you've taken the obligatory picture, there's really nothing else to do. But my Fredericksburg experience would have been tragically incomplete without the Tale of the Arm. And what a weird, fantastic "Been There, Done That" kind of story it is, wouldn't you agree?
(*the Ranger also felt inspired to share a bit of related trivia with me: there is one other headstone in the United States dedicated to the final resting place of a famous person's...ahem...body part. The limb in question would be Benedict Arnold's leg, buried in Saratoga, NY. No, I do NOT have plans to go see it...right now, anyway!)
In my travels I've hit some of the "biggies" in the War Between the States: Gettysburg, Antietam, Monocacy, Manassas, Vicksburg, Appomattox, Harper's Ferry, to name a few. Yet somehow, even though it's only 70 miles away, even though my late Great Uncle Jere and Great Aunt Phoebe owned the second oldest house in the city, I had thus far failed to explore Fredericksburg, Virginia. So when my family was away this past weekend, and the Road Trip Bug bit me, I headed into the South for an educational field trip.
First stop: Chancellorsville--which would have been a stupefyingly boring waste of time (lots of big empty fields, marked by plaques describing troop movement....YAWN) if it weren't for the ultra-helpful and friendly Park Ranger who took the time to give me a brief history lesson. As he handed me my useful National Park Service map, he pointed out that, if I chose to make a small side trip, I could visit the Wilderness Battlefield. And just why would I want to do this, you may wonder? Because: General "Stonewall" Jackson's arm is buried there. To be perfectly clear: not the whole body, just the ARM...WITH A HEADSTONE*. Now I ask you, how could I possibly miss this? It's just so compelling, in a delightfully bizarre and macabre sort of way!
Clearly, this needed to become a priority of my excursion. I found the scene of the...um..."internment", Ellwood House, tucked at the end of a quiet, winding country lane. Hoping to leave behind the (stifling, 100-degree) heat of the day for a few blessed minutes of air-conditioning, I opened the front door; immediately three nice older gentlemen welcomed me and leaped to my assistance. The first Retired Volunteer led me to the "parlor" which had been reconstructed down to the most minute, exact details, using correspondence that described the room as it appeared during wartime meetings in 1863. In his quiet, gentle southern voice (in which "eighteen-sixty foh-uh" has 6 syllables--say it out loud and you'll hear what I mean!), with hands folded across his portly frame, he shared some of the colorful history of the property. He was an absolute treasure.
Then his partner, a silver-haired, distinguished-professor type, instructed me in the use of the interactive film clips in the next room. When I had dutifully listened to the presentation and absorbed all the facts and lore I could, I prepared to venture back out onto the grounds. The Professor followed me onto the porch and, with twinkling eyes and a sly sidelong look, whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "are you going to see The Arm?" It didn't seem polite or respectful to snicker (no matter how much I wanted to), so I earnestly assured him I was about to do just that, and he pointed me in the right direction and wished me well.
So of course, I proceeded to the small graveyard to...pay my respects? gawk in utter amazement? marvel at the absurdity? (a little bit of all of these, as a matter of fact). The General's arm is marked by the only headstone in that tiny cemetery, and once you've taken the obligatory picture, there's really nothing else to do. But my Fredericksburg experience would have been tragically incomplete without the Tale of the Arm. And what a weird, fantastic "Been There, Done That" kind of story it is, wouldn't you agree?
(*the Ranger also felt inspired to share a bit of related trivia with me: there is one other headstone in the United States dedicated to the final resting place of a famous person's...ahem...body part. The limb in question would be Benedict Arnold's leg, buried in Saratoga, NY. No, I do NOT have plans to go see it...right now, anyway!)
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Roll Over, Beethoven
Today's post will be a sober commentary on the topic of: "Growing Up in America, amidst the influence of the Popular Cultural Media". (Ha! I had you going there for a minute, didn't I? Relax, it's just a kid story...with musical overtones...)
Everyone in our family loves music. The kids come by it naturally, as they have been exposed to a variety of musical genres from the time they were born. For example, one of their favorite shows when they were pre-schoolers was the Disney Channel's Little Einsteins, which featured a famous piece of classical music in each episode. We knew Derek was absorbing some of it when he walked into the kitchen one day, heard the Classical Station that was playing, and commented thoughtfully, "Hey, that sounds like Mozart!" (He was right. He was also 4-years old.) These days, we frequently have the radio on in the house, as background. When we get in the car to go somewhere, Derek reminds me if I haven't turned on the music by the time we're at the end of our driveway. Riley often walks around the house singing to himself (selections from Hot 99.5...which kind of freaks me out, to tell you the truth--my not-quite-7-year-old belting out "I'm only gonna break-break-your, break-break your heart!")
But things quite suddenly have become less Rock Me Amadeus and more American Top 40 boys around here...the other day Royce came searching for me with an incredulous look on his face, and sputtered, "WHAT have you guys been listening to lately?" (Um..that depends...how much trouble am I in exactly?) Turns out the boys were mulling over a question in the "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader" quiz book I'd gotten to amuse them on their upcoming flight to SC. The query: "What was the first name of legendary 18th- century composer Beethoven?" Derek claimed he didn't have a clue, so Royce prompted him: "starts with an L". Derek's guess? LUDACRIS! (I'm sure he was kidding...he must have been...right?)
To paraphrase another legendary songwriter: "Oh, the times, they are a-changin'...."
Everyone in our family loves music. The kids come by it naturally, as they have been exposed to a variety of musical genres from the time they were born. For example, one of their favorite shows when they were pre-schoolers was the Disney Channel's Little Einsteins, which featured a famous piece of classical music in each episode. We knew Derek was absorbing some of it when he walked into the kitchen one day, heard the Classical Station that was playing, and commented thoughtfully, "Hey, that sounds like Mozart!" (He was right. He was also 4-years old.) These days, we frequently have the radio on in the house, as background. When we get in the car to go somewhere, Derek reminds me if I haven't turned on the music by the time we're at the end of our driveway. Riley often walks around the house singing to himself (selections from Hot 99.5...which kind of freaks me out, to tell you the truth--my not-quite-7-year-old belting out "I'm only gonna break-break-your, break-break your heart!")
But things quite suddenly have become less Rock Me Amadeus and more American Top 40 boys around here...the other day Royce came searching for me with an incredulous look on his face, and sputtered, "WHAT have you guys been listening to lately?" (Um..that depends...how much trouble am I in exactly?) Turns out the boys were mulling over a question in the "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader" quiz book I'd gotten to amuse them on their upcoming flight to SC. The query: "What was the first name of legendary 18th- century composer Beethoven?" Derek claimed he didn't have a clue, so Royce prompted him: "starts with an L". Derek's guess? LUDACRIS! (I'm sure he was kidding...he must have been...right?)
To paraphrase another legendary songwriter: "Oh, the times, they are a-changin'...."
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I never learned THIS in Schoolhouse Rock!
As a parent, you send your kids off to school each day, trusting that their hours away from you are filled with useful lessons that increase their knowledge and personal growth, and valuable information to help them along in life. You fervently hope that at least some of this learning will make a strong impression and stick with them after the bell rings...that is, until you discover that the burning topic that has fixed itself indelibly in the minds of the 4th-graders is: Cannibalism. (Yes, you read that right! And no, I'm not kidding!)
Allow me to explain. They spent a great deal of time this year studying the Jamestown Settlement, the early American Colonists, and the Powhatan Indians. (Sounds interesting and enriching, right? Wait for it...) Now, Jamestown had its share of serious troubles, including rampant disease and hunger. Experts say that when things got really desperate, the residents were forced to eat people who had died, in order to survive themselves (who knew?). Let me just interject here that I am sure this was a MINOR point in the examination of the historical period, probably mentioned quickly in passing...but to the 10-year olds, it was apparently an Instant Sensation. And I probably wouldn't even know about it, except that I volunteered several times in May, when the class was working on their Final Presentations, and I happened to help out one little girl who was obsessed with writing a play...about a family who ate the youngest brother (it was somehow hilarious and creepy at the same time--as if Stephen King was inhabiting the body of a big-eyed, ponytailed elementary school kid).
Anyway, I didn't realize the macabre discussion had carried over to the homefront, until Riley was looking at a list I had made of potential "Things to Do" this summer. At the bottom I had written Williamsburg/Jamestown. With an expression of mild alarm, he asked, "Why would we want to go to Jamestown, Mom...there's no FOOD!" (hence the gravity of the situation: no field trips allowed without snacks, you know!) I assured him that in fact, they have resolved this issue in modern-day Jamestown. After a moment of relief, he began laughing; "That's good, but it would be funny if you walked up to your neighbor and said 'hi neighbor'....CHOMP!"
Sigh. 4th-grade Curriculum, meet 1st-grade sense of humor...so please, whatever you do, refrain from asking "what did you learn in school this year" unless you're prepared for the gruesome consequences!
Allow me to explain. They spent a great deal of time this year studying the Jamestown Settlement, the early American Colonists, and the Powhatan Indians. (Sounds interesting and enriching, right? Wait for it...) Now, Jamestown had its share of serious troubles, including rampant disease and hunger. Experts say that when things got really desperate, the residents were forced to eat people who had died, in order to survive themselves (who knew?). Let me just interject here that I am sure this was a MINOR point in the examination of the historical period, probably mentioned quickly in passing...but to the 10-year olds, it was apparently an Instant Sensation. And I probably wouldn't even know about it, except that I volunteered several times in May, when the class was working on their Final Presentations, and I happened to help out one little girl who was obsessed with writing a play...about a family who ate the youngest brother (it was somehow hilarious and creepy at the same time--as if Stephen King was inhabiting the body of a big-eyed, ponytailed elementary school kid).
Anyway, I didn't realize the macabre discussion had carried over to the homefront, until Riley was looking at a list I had made of potential "Things to Do" this summer. At the bottom I had written Williamsburg/Jamestown. With an expression of mild alarm, he asked, "Why would we want to go to Jamestown, Mom...there's no FOOD!" (hence the gravity of the situation: no field trips allowed without snacks, you know!) I assured him that in fact, they have resolved this issue in modern-day Jamestown. After a moment of relief, he began laughing; "That's good, but it would be funny if you walked up to your neighbor and said 'hi neighbor'....CHOMP!"
Sigh. 4th-grade Curriculum, meet 1st-grade sense of humor...so please, whatever you do, refrain from asking "what did you learn in school this year" unless you're prepared for the gruesome consequences!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Summer begins....
Today was the "First Meteorological Day of Summer" (sounds so festive, doesn't it? those weather gurus really are a wild and crazy bunch...), so let's review how it went. The boys, whom we often have to cajole from their beds at a quarter to eight during the school year, popped out of bed at: 7:45. Which part of "you can sleep in--it's summertime and you have nowhere to be" did they NOT get? Clearly this needs some work.
The school year "No TV on weekdays" rule has been lifted, and even the "daily 2-hour time-limit" has been chucked out the window due to the World Cup Mania currently gripping our household. So by 8:40 this morning, Derek and Riley had parked themselves in front of a match, and were raucously cheering on the players, trash-talking the refs, and rating the best and worst commercials, while I drank my coffee. (Oh, don't worry that I wasn't fully involved in the excitement--after each and every one of Portugal's SEVEN goals, I was treated to a high-volume Sports Center-worthy blow-by-blow recap of precisely what had happened, including who scored, who assisted, who was near the play, who was adjusting their shorts at the time, etc.) After the game, they were so charged up that they felt inspired to play their own version of an International Soccer Contest...which ended abruptly about 5 minutes in, after Riley stubbed his toe and accused Derek of cheating (as a matter of fact, it was a darn good imitation of some of the more dramatic fake-injury moments I've seen professional players pull off when they want to draw a "foul call"!)
In the afternoon, Derek and I attempted to play tennis for the first time this season. I thought it went pretty well, but the 10-year old seemed to believe he should step on the court after not picking up a racket for a year and instantly channel his inner Roger Federer. So there was a little more ego-placating and less baseline-rallying than I had hoped. And did I mention it was H-O-T on that asphalt today?!
Which leads us to the ideal end for Day 1 of Summer: the pool! Ah, the sunscreen...the chlorine...the whole lounge chair scene...But wait just a minute--I remembered something very important that we missed! How could we have forgotten ice cream? Oh well, we'll have to do better tomorrow (you know, Day 2 of Summer... : )
The school year "No TV on weekdays" rule has been lifted, and even the "daily 2-hour time-limit" has been chucked out the window due to the World Cup Mania currently gripping our household. So by 8:40 this morning, Derek and Riley had parked themselves in front of a match, and were raucously cheering on the players, trash-talking the refs, and rating the best and worst commercials, while I drank my coffee. (Oh, don't worry that I wasn't fully involved in the excitement--after each and every one of Portugal's SEVEN goals, I was treated to a high-volume Sports Center-worthy blow-by-blow recap of precisely what had happened, including who scored, who assisted, who was near the play, who was adjusting their shorts at the time, etc.) After the game, they were so charged up that they felt inspired to play their own version of an International Soccer Contest...which ended abruptly about 5 minutes in, after Riley stubbed his toe and accused Derek of cheating (as a matter of fact, it was a darn good imitation of some of the more dramatic fake-injury moments I've seen professional players pull off when they want to draw a "foul call"!)
In the afternoon, Derek and I attempted to play tennis for the first time this season. I thought it went pretty well, but the 10-year old seemed to believe he should step on the court after not picking up a racket for a year and instantly channel his inner Roger Federer. So there was a little more ego-placating and less baseline-rallying than I had hoped. And did I mention it was H-O-T on that asphalt today?!
Which leads us to the ideal end for Day 1 of Summer: the pool! Ah, the sunscreen...the chlorine...the whole lounge chair scene...But wait just a minute--I remembered something very important that we missed! How could we have forgotten ice cream? Oh well, we'll have to do better tomorrow (you know, Day 2 of Summer... : )
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Loo, Part 2!
After I had recovered from my mind-boggling Home Depot fact-finding mission (makes it sound so serious and important, doesn't it? Like "toilet features" should be Code Blue Classified Information or something...), I bravely ventured out to another Home Improvement Outpost: The Tile Center. "How bad could it be?" I reassured myself, "all they have is one thing!" And in fact that turned out to be true. They just have ROWS and ROWS of that one thing...stretching off as far as the eye can see. Sigh. That whooshing sound was my "free morning" blowing away before my eyes...
Even here, in such a specialized store, the choices immediately begin to pile up (somewhat like the stacks of money that will be handed over eventually, when all the decisions have been made!) First: what material would you prefer? There's ceramic, porcelain, and something called "Travertine", which I gathered was a fancy name for "stone". Then you can focus on color (solid? light? dark? marbled? speckled?) and texture (completely smooth? slightly bumpy? bumpy enough that you feel like your bathroom is on a garden path?), and finish (shiny? matte? I didn't find the surface-type I really wanted: "self-cleaning, thoroughly hiding dust and hair"...darn it).
But don't relax just yet; you're far from home-free (pun intended)! You must sift through each of these options several times, as you select tile for the floor...then the shower walls...and the shower pan (that's Secret Bathroom Talk for: the floor of the shower). All of these should of course complement each other--and work with everything else you tentatively picked out in Home Depot (relying on memory, since you couldn't exactly bring a mock-up of your model bathroom with you). Finally, your helpful Consultant will suggest an "accent piece" to make your shower "stand out". (Um...why? I don't plan to give tours of my shower, no matter how good it looks when this is all completed! And when I'm in there, soaping or shaving or whatever, I do not intend to stand around admiring my beautiful surroundings! But I chose one anyway; I figured at this point, "what the heck?")
And then, the Moment of Truth (or "Moment of Math" is more like it) when you sit down with the Consultant and his trusty calculator, and total up the final cost of re-tiling your wee bathroom...and discover (to your abject horror) that on paper you've spent: $700. So now I'm thinking maybe I WILL give tours of my renovated bathroom...$5 per person...tips appreciated!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
"Taking the Plunge" (so to speak) Part 1
Well, the time is upon us again...every year like clockwork we can count on something in our 35-ish-year-old house needing "attention" (which of course is just one big euphemism in Homeowner Speak for "requiring time, effort, and a big pile of money to repair or replace". Someone neglected to tell us this pertinent fact while we were signing the stacks of papers necessary to buy the house. Or maybe it's buried somewhere in all the fine print and legal speak on page 127 or something...must've missed that...)
Anyway, this year the big Home Improvement Winner is: the Master Bathroom. Mind you, Master Bathroom is a somewhat lofty title for a room that is approximately 5 feet square, and routinely used by one person (that would be: me!). So I figured this "project" would be fairly small, easy and inexpensive. Yes, you may feel free to start chuckling now at my naivete (or shall we call it "Blissful Ignorance"? whatever, it's been dashed to bits by now...) It all kicked off when I noticed cracking around the base of the shower. I promptly ignored this...for a couple of years, actually (there was no actual water leak that we could see, so it must be fine, right? Denial also works well for me on occasion). Then small pieces of drywall started chipping off, and suddenly I envisioned a cascade of water flooding my bathroom--and I called a professional immediately.
Obviously, the shower is the major component in this tiny Water Closet (the British term applies nicely in this case, as there is indeed water, but barely enough space to turn around in there), but--and here comes the big sucking sound of me being drawn into a diabolical "Renovation Plan"--once you tear out and rebuild the shower, you might as well re-tile the floor (changing the 1-inch square tiles that just scream "70s"!), and choose a new vanity (updating the peeling wood/stained plastic version in there now), and switch the toilet (for a modern, water-saving, dual-flush variety).
See how easy that was? Um, yeah...sounds great...looks awesome on paper. But then I went to Home Depot (whose motto should really be: "You can do it...just hand over all your money, and we can help!") and, just to start somewhere, contemplated toilets (size--yes, there are choices! color? shape of opening? handle type? amount of water consumption?). Mentally already beginning to reel a bit, I moved on from there to vanities (doors? drawers? wood color? dimensions that will actually fit into my diminutive space?). Holding tightly onto my last remaining sparks of brainpower, I hastily sought out fixtures (faucet finish--chrome? brushed nickel? brass? does the sink have one opening or three? do I want a big, swooping silhouette, or a more modest look? shower head: spray options? compact or large round shape?) And then, dazed and staggering like I'd gone 10 rounds with one of the orange-aproned helpers, I escaped the mayhem, clutching my fistful of notes and fleeing before I started doing something crazy...like buying things.
So to sum up: in less than an hour, I spent a cool imaginary $500 (not counting the multiple-thousands of dollars for the Contractor's quote--which is enough to give a Penny-Pincher like me an imaginary heart-attack). And I hadn't even been to the Tile Store yet (more on that later). This tiny virtual-bathroom is already turning out to be more costly and complicated than I thought! I'd better go regroup for Round 2...
Anyway, this year the big Home Improvement Winner is: the Master Bathroom. Mind you, Master Bathroom is a somewhat lofty title for a room that is approximately 5 feet square, and routinely used by one person (that would be: me!). So I figured this "project" would be fairly small, easy and inexpensive. Yes, you may feel free to start chuckling now at my naivete (or shall we call it "Blissful Ignorance"? whatever, it's been dashed to bits by now...) It all kicked off when I noticed cracking around the base of the shower. I promptly ignored this...for a couple of years, actually (there was no actual water leak that we could see, so it must be fine, right? Denial also works well for me on occasion). Then small pieces of drywall started chipping off, and suddenly I envisioned a cascade of water flooding my bathroom--and I called a professional immediately.
Obviously, the shower is the major component in this tiny Water Closet (the British term applies nicely in this case, as there is indeed water, but barely enough space to turn around in there), but--and here comes the big sucking sound of me being drawn into a diabolical "Renovation Plan"--once you tear out and rebuild the shower, you might as well re-tile the floor (changing the 1-inch square tiles that just scream "70s"!), and choose a new vanity (updating the peeling wood/stained plastic version in there now), and switch the toilet (for a modern, water-saving, dual-flush variety).
See how easy that was? Um, yeah...sounds great...looks awesome on paper. But then I went to Home Depot (whose motto should really be: "You can do it...just hand over all your money, and we can help!") and, just to start somewhere, contemplated toilets (size--yes, there are choices! color? shape of opening? handle type? amount of water consumption?). Mentally already beginning to reel a bit, I moved on from there to vanities (doors? drawers? wood color? dimensions that will actually fit into my diminutive space?). Holding tightly onto my last remaining sparks of brainpower, I hastily sought out fixtures (faucet finish--chrome? brushed nickel? brass? does the sink have one opening or three? do I want a big, swooping silhouette, or a more modest look? shower head: spray options? compact or large round shape?) And then, dazed and staggering like I'd gone 10 rounds with one of the orange-aproned helpers, I escaped the mayhem, clutching my fistful of notes and fleeing before I started doing something crazy...like buying things.
So to sum up: in less than an hour, I spent a cool imaginary $500 (not counting the multiple-thousands of dollars for the Contractor's quote--which is enough to give a Penny-Pincher like me an imaginary heart-attack). And I hadn't even been to the Tile Store yet (more on that later). This tiny virtual-bathroom is already turning out to be more costly and complicated than I thought! I'd better go regroup for Round 2...
Friday, June 11, 2010
A Modern-Day Apple for the Teacher...
Another school year has ended, for all intents and purposes (although there are technically 2-1/2 days left, I think the boys are running on fumes and have already "checked out" mentally) and I must say, both kids were blessed with phenomenal teachers this year. Warm, caring, upbeat, skilled, and--as a total bonus--funny as well! So I was out shopping today, wracking my brains (yes, it was as painful as it sounds...particularly in the middle of WalMart!) for a solution to the age-old problem: what to get teachers for an end-of-the-year gift? I strongly subscribe to the "Useful Gift" philosophy, because I myself am adamantly opposed to receiving "knick-knacky stuff" to clutter up my life (trust me, I've seen teachers' desks, and there's always plenty of decoration already!). And let's face it, no matter how absolutely adorable, no one NEEDS another "#1 Teacher" mug or more stationary with cutesy pictures of pencils and books. Besides, I want a present that somehow expresses all at once: 1. how wonderful they are 2. how grateful we feel and 3. how much their hard work is appreciated. Besides a chocolate bar the size of Mt. Everest (and who wouldn't want that?), I just couldn't come up with anything...
As I meandered up and down the aisles, nothing jumped out at me and screamed "Tasteful and Appropriate Reward for an Excellent Teacher" (I waited patiently, but it just didn't happen), so my mind drifted off in a daydream. If I could put together my own Magical Gift Basket, this is what it would contain for each of my sons' teachers:
--a Bottomless Coffee Cup (refills itself automatically each morning just before you arrive, and waits steaming invitingly on your desk. That would certainly help ME face a roomful of children at the bright- and-early hour you greet them!)
--an invisible Whine-Barrier (fits snugly over your classroom door, preventing any unpleasant tone-of-voice from entering your domain for the entire day.)
--Fidget-Proof Chairs (gently but firmly keeps feet on the floor, bottoms planted, and--most importantly--hands to self while kids are working.)
--Lightly-Scented Air Freshener (spritzes the room at strategic intervals, neutralizing the pungent odor of 25 moist bodies when they re-enter after recess.)
--Obedience Drops (like gumdrops, but all-natural, with no added colors or flavors : ) that when given to a misbehaving student (sorry, I meant "a friend who's not making good choices") would cause them to immediately change their attitude or behavior to a more acceptable one.
--Industrial-Strength, Jumbo-Sized Jar of Patience: because although teachers NEVER seem to be running low, I believe it would be nice to have some extra on-hand...just in case!
There! Just throw in that Mountain of Chocolate, and it's perfect! Now I wonder if Amazon carries such a thing...
As I meandered up and down the aisles, nothing jumped out at me and screamed "Tasteful and Appropriate Reward for an Excellent Teacher" (I waited patiently, but it just didn't happen), so my mind drifted off in a daydream. If I could put together my own Magical Gift Basket, this is what it would contain for each of my sons' teachers:
--a Bottomless Coffee Cup (refills itself automatically each morning just before you arrive, and waits steaming invitingly on your desk. That would certainly help ME face a roomful of children at the bright- and-early hour you greet them!)
--an invisible Whine-Barrier (fits snugly over your classroom door, preventing any unpleasant tone-of-voice from entering your domain for the entire day.)
--Fidget-Proof Chairs (gently but firmly keeps feet on the floor, bottoms planted, and--most importantly--hands to self while kids are working.)
--Lightly-Scented Air Freshener (spritzes the room at strategic intervals, neutralizing the pungent odor of 25 moist bodies when they re-enter after recess.)
--Obedience Drops (like gumdrops, but all-natural, with no added colors or flavors : ) that when given to a misbehaving student (sorry, I meant "a friend who's not making good choices") would cause them to immediately change their attitude or behavior to a more acceptable one.
--Industrial-Strength, Jumbo-Sized Jar of Patience: because although teachers NEVER seem to be running low, I believe it would be nice to have some extra on-hand...just in case!
There! Just throw in that Mountain of Chocolate, and it's perfect! Now I wonder if Amazon carries such a thing...
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