The calendar turned to August, and with it came what I like to call the Late Summer Blues. First of all, it's (still!) HOTTTTT. And humid. I imagine that if Weather was a family, Hot and Humid would be the unpopular uncles that no one ever wanted to invite to reunions because they make everyone cranky and uncomfortable. (Not to mention sweaty.) And every year by this time, I'm so over the heat. Some days the kids and I can't even muster enthusiasm to go to the pool ('cuz, you know, pulling on that swimsuit is such a drag! and dredging up your towel from the laundry pile? fuhgeddaboutit!) When the Energizer Bunny Boys can't run amok outside for more than 15 minutes without wilting, it's gotta be a critical case of LSB.
Naturally, since they can't expend their adrenaline on outdoor pursuits, they get creative inside the air-conditioned house. This leads to an exponential increase in such pursuits as: WWF-style wrestling, tackle-Nerf-basketball, foam-sword-fencing matches, and full-contact soccer. Each of these somehow involves a degree of shouting and floor-pounding that literally shakes the house, making it seem as though 2 boys will soon come crashing through whatever level they're currently playing on, possibly directly onto your head.
The thrilling action in these various Death-Cage Matches is frequently halted by periods of passionate argument such as: "stop throwing so hard!"; "that was not a goal!" or the ever-popular "that's it, I QUIT...and I'm never playing with you again!" (actually, these are all Riley; Derek just shrugs and says, "okay, whatever"...which infuriates Riley all the more so that he stomps out of the vicinity, muttering to himself about the most horrible brother ever, blah, blah, blah...) At this point in the Summer, I refuse to referee anymore, so they separate themselves--kind of like a timeout in the Westman Boys Penalty Box--and next time I turn around, they've completely forgotten the fight and moved on to another game. Sigh. Boys.
I never would have thought I'd say this, but too much free time...in close proximity to each other...seems to be wearing us down! However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel (besides that train I've been praying for, to come spirit me away)! August also means that we can count the days until school starts again. And Derek has such as serious case of LSB that he actually said to me the other day, "I'm kind of ready to go back to school." So in the time remaining to us we need to make sure we: eat a lot more watermelon and ice cream, enjoy cooling off at the swimming pool, visit a few more interesting places, sleep in as much as possible, and take full advantage of our long, lazy, unstructured Summer days before they're all used up for another year. Tomorrow's agenda: all of the above, and of course keep the brothers from killing each other. Mid-August, here we come!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Bull Run
Giddy with the success of last week's outing into the wilds of D.C, I thought we'd keep the momentum rolling with another Educational (shhh!) Field Trip. This time we braved great hardship--summer heat, tired legs, Northern Virginia traffic (GRRR! a special version of Hell...)--to visit Manassas, site of the First and Second Battles of Bull Run during the Civil War.
Derek is old enough at this point to really appreciate--and maybe even be a little bit awed by--the fact that we were standing on exactly the same spot that the fighting occurred 150 years ago. Each time we paused to study the historical markers, I could see him trying to picture the wartime scene in his head. I wonder if it seemed as unreal to him as it did to me, that the peaceful green fields, covered with gently-waving grass, were once overrun in a violent, thunderous melee of rifle-bearing soldiers, mounted generals, and cannons. Growing up in relative safety and prosperity in modern-day U.S.A., Derek may not fully grasp what life was like in the 1800s, but after a few hours of tromping around dusty dirt paths in the afternoon sun, he remarked with a grin, "Whew, I am SO grateful for air-conditioning!" I couldn't help pointing out that while he was counting his blessings, he should also give thanks for: his clean, practically-new cotton shorts and t-shirt (rather than filthy, tattered, woolen uniform); sturdy sneakers (as opposed to holey boots, or feet wrapped in rags); and most of all, the cooler full of fresh snacks and cool drinks (best not to think of the alternative)! Oh, and did I forget to mention "not being shot at"? Or "being able to sit down in the shade and rest"? (While it's true that we were there in August, the same month that both Bull Run clashes occurred, clearly the resemblance ends there!)
While Derek's logical left-brain was busy focusing on the tactical aspects, Riley found the buildings and people to be the most interesting part. He enjoyed examining how things looked in the "old days", and reading about what everyday life was like back then. The furnishings, the utensils, the descriptions of how things were made and used--this is what fascinated him. His eyes roamed the recreated rooms of Stone House and Brawner Farm, taking in details like the uneven wood floors, the brick fireplaces utilized for warmth and cooking, and the candles that provided light. ("No electricity"? His eyes widened in shock at that one. Surprisingly, but fortunately, he neglected to inquire about...ahem...restroom facilities in the 19th century!) These discussions centered around the more "sociological aspects" of the War Between the States...such as the Plantation Lifestyle the South was so desperate to preserve, the utterly heinous practice of keeping human beings as slaves, and the inspiring courage of people like Harriet Tubman, assisting others to gain freedom.
It's no wonder, then, that when we were finished with all of our marching and chatting, our brains felt as exhausted as our feet! History is awesome, especially up-close and personal like this, but as we pulled into McDonald's for an icy soda to soothe our parched throats on the drive back to Maryland, sweaty, drooping Derek summed it up for us: "When we get home, I'm going to lie on the couch and watch a little TV" (spoken with a weary sigh). And so, back to the Modern World we happily return!
Derek is old enough at this point to really appreciate--and maybe even be a little bit awed by--the fact that we were standing on exactly the same spot that the fighting occurred 150 years ago. Each time we paused to study the historical markers, I could see him trying to picture the wartime scene in his head. I wonder if it seemed as unreal to him as it did to me, that the peaceful green fields, covered with gently-waving grass, were once overrun in a violent, thunderous melee of rifle-bearing soldiers, mounted generals, and cannons. Growing up in relative safety and prosperity in modern-day U.S.A., Derek may not fully grasp what life was like in the 1800s, but after a few hours of tromping around dusty dirt paths in the afternoon sun, he remarked with a grin, "Whew, I am SO grateful for air-conditioning!" I couldn't help pointing out that while he was counting his blessings, he should also give thanks for: his clean, practically-new cotton shorts and t-shirt (rather than filthy, tattered, woolen uniform); sturdy sneakers (as opposed to holey boots, or feet wrapped in rags); and most of all, the cooler full of fresh snacks and cool drinks (best not to think of the alternative)! Oh, and did I forget to mention "not being shot at"? Or "being able to sit down in the shade and rest"? (While it's true that we were there in August, the same month that both Bull Run clashes occurred, clearly the resemblance ends there!)
While Derek's logical left-brain was busy focusing on the tactical aspects, Riley found the buildings and people to be the most interesting part. He enjoyed examining how things looked in the "old days", and reading about what everyday life was like back then. The furnishings, the utensils, the descriptions of how things were made and used--this is what fascinated him. His eyes roamed the recreated rooms of Stone House and Brawner Farm, taking in details like the uneven wood floors, the brick fireplaces utilized for warmth and cooking, and the candles that provided light. ("No electricity"? His eyes widened in shock at that one. Surprisingly, but fortunately, he neglected to inquire about...ahem...restroom facilities in the 19th century!) These discussions centered around the more "sociological aspects" of the War Between the States...such as the Plantation Lifestyle the South was so desperate to preserve, the utterly heinous practice of keeping human beings as slaves, and the inspiring courage of people like Harriet Tubman, assisting others to gain freedom.
It's no wonder, then, that when we were finished with all of our marching and chatting, our brains felt as exhausted as our feet! History is awesome, especially up-close and personal like this, but as we pulled into McDonald's for an icy soda to soothe our parched throats on the drive back to Maryland, sweaty, drooping Derek summed it up for us: "When we get home, I'm going to lie on the couch and watch a little TV" (spoken with a weary sigh). And so, back to the Modern World we happily return!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Number Crunching
Today, class, we're going to talk about "real" and "imaginary" numbers (Yes, those are actual math terms, but don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to define them....or add/subtract/multiply or divide them! Consider it more of a philosophical discussion...)
For our first example, consider this very Blog. Those of you who are counting--and I know that you are, right?--are aware that this is the (pause for dramatic effect) two-hundredth post! Now, I'm sure you're thinking the same thing I am: Jeez Louise, that's a LOT of babbling from one woman! But whatever your opinion about my random scribblings, (can we even say that anymore? what's the keyboard equivalent? random tappings? just doesn't have the same ring...where was I? oh, yeah...) that number represents a concrete, measurable result, achieved by sitting exactly where I am right now (in a chair in my bedroom, with my laptop and a cold drink, for those of you who were wondering), twice a week for the past almost-two-years, an hour or so at a time. (Wow...200...what does that mean? apparently, I have an endless supply of silliness and like to hear myself talk...but that's a topic for another time...)
Then we have what I think of as "phantom numbers". At least in my world, these increasingly show up in relation to money.What used to be known as "cold, hard cash" has become "swipe the card" or even "enter the number on the website" followed by "pay the bill at the end of the month" (also online, of course). No dollars or coins are actually exchanged. The transactions consist entirely of two parties accepting numbers on a piece of paper or a screen. Don't get me wrong, in some ways, this is a beautiful thing. Not only can I skip the visit--during regular business hours only, of course--to the brick-and-mortar bank for cash, I don't even have to drive by the ATM machine anymore! And I was recently able to open an online CD by transferring funds from one bank to the other, all from the home PC. I did stop to wonder: was there ever an actual person who handled the actual money involved? Beats the heck out of me. All I know is: I clicked a few times, some totals changed, and I have faith that if I ask politely for it someday, someone will give me some currency that I can hold in my hand. (By then I might not know what to do with it anymore, we'll see...) But my personal favorite has to be those mystical "reward dollars" that are placed in my sons' future college fund every time I use that credit card. Pure magic, I tell ya. Where does that money come from? Who knows! No one's ever really seen it, but my computer screen tells me it's there, so I believe! Yes, Virginia, there IS a Credit Card Santa Clause!
But (you were waiting for the BUT, right?) the Cyber World of Finance can turn around and bite you in the...tushie...sometimes. Like this morning, when I logged on at 8 a.m. to check email and found a message warning me that "fraud had been detected" on my account. (How? I was asleep!) Apparently, some villainous hacker-person bought a few items from an online catalog overnight using our credit card number, and the bank pounced on it (which makes me really grateful that evidently they don't sleep!) Since both of our cards remained firmly in our wallets, Royce and I are stymied as to how this happened. (ie: who's peeping into our computer activity? cut that out, you creepy scary person!) But thanks to the vigilance of Big Brother Bank, the problem was shut down right there, before it could get any worse. Of course we're not responsible for the fraudulent charges, but we had to...cut up our cards! (she says with a gasp and a heavy sigh) So until the new ones arrive, it's going to have to be strictly Real World spending for me, but I hope to rejoin the Virtual Economy very soon! And I also pray I can remember my PIN number for the ATM!
For our first example, consider this very Blog. Those of you who are counting--and I know that you are, right?--are aware that this is the (pause for dramatic effect) two-hundredth post! Now, I'm sure you're thinking the same thing I am: Jeez Louise, that's a LOT of babbling from one woman! But whatever your opinion about my random scribblings, (can we even say that anymore? what's the keyboard equivalent? random tappings? just doesn't have the same ring...where was I? oh, yeah...) that number represents a concrete, measurable result, achieved by sitting exactly where I am right now (in a chair in my bedroom, with my laptop and a cold drink, for those of you who were wondering), twice a week for the past almost-two-years, an hour or so at a time. (Wow...200...what does that mean? apparently, I have an endless supply of silliness and like to hear myself talk...but that's a topic for another time...)
Then we have what I think of as "phantom numbers". At least in my world, these increasingly show up in relation to money.What used to be known as "cold, hard cash" has become "swipe the card" or even "enter the number on the website" followed by "pay the bill at the end of the month" (also online, of course). No dollars or coins are actually exchanged. The transactions consist entirely of two parties accepting numbers on a piece of paper or a screen. Don't get me wrong, in some ways, this is a beautiful thing. Not only can I skip the visit--during regular business hours only, of course--to the brick-and-mortar bank for cash, I don't even have to drive by the ATM machine anymore! And I was recently able to open an online CD by transferring funds from one bank to the other, all from the home PC. I did stop to wonder: was there ever an actual person who handled the actual money involved? Beats the heck out of me. All I know is: I clicked a few times, some totals changed, and I have faith that if I ask politely for it someday, someone will give me some currency that I can hold in my hand. (By then I might not know what to do with it anymore, we'll see...) But my personal favorite has to be those mystical "reward dollars" that are placed in my sons' future college fund every time I use that credit card. Pure magic, I tell ya. Where does that money come from? Who knows! No one's ever really seen it, but my computer screen tells me it's there, so I believe! Yes, Virginia, there IS a Credit Card Santa Clause!
But (you were waiting for the BUT, right?) the Cyber World of Finance can turn around and bite you in the...tushie...sometimes. Like this morning, when I logged on at 8 a.m. to check email and found a message warning me that "fraud had been detected" on my account. (How? I was asleep!) Apparently, some villainous hacker-person bought a few items from an online catalog overnight using our credit card number, and the bank pounced on it (which makes me really grateful that evidently they don't sleep!) Since both of our cards remained firmly in our wallets, Royce and I are stymied as to how this happened. (ie: who's peeping into our computer activity? cut that out, you creepy scary person!) But thanks to the vigilance of Big Brother Bank, the problem was shut down right there, before it could get any worse. Of course we're not responsible for the fraudulent charges, but we had to...cut up our cards! (she says with a gasp and a heavy sigh) So until the new ones arrive, it's going to have to be strictly Real World spending for me, but I hope to rejoin the Virtual Economy very soon! And I also pray I can remember my PIN number for the ATM!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
July Amnesia: where did it go?
A certain phenomenon occurs every year at about this time. You'd think I would have learned to expect it by now, or at least see it coming, and therefore be prepared...but it still sneaks up on me each July, somehow taking me completely by surprise. Let's call it the "Oh my gosh it's almost August and we haven't done ANYTHING on our 'Summer Fun List' yet" Syndrome (wordy, but descriptive, don't you think?)! Because of course, in May or June, I sit down and ponder all the exciting, adventurous, educational, and cool activities we could possibly cram into the Summer Vacation, and then I compile a nice, long agenda to keep us busy for the 9 weeks or so the kids have before returning to jail...I mean school. But then they go visit their grandparents in South Carolina, and June is suddenly over. And after we go to the pool a bunch of times and schedule a few playdates and do our week of camp--good grief July is nearly gone too how did that happen...AGAIN?
Parental Panic sets in. So it's time to get a move on and accomplish some of this Fun Stuff, by golly. Low-Key Summer Mom is about to go all Julie-the-Cruise-Director on your butts, so let's gear up and make some memories! (And no, the 2 times we've played Mini-Golf do not count! They weren't on the List, so we couldn't put that satisfying check mark to show our progress! Focus, people!) First up: Smithsonian (when getting such a late start, it's best to Go Big right out of the gate, I think.) This field trip ranks high for a couple of reasons: we get to ride a Metro train into downtown Washington D.C.; and we get to take in a unique (free!) museum (extra points for the Cultural aspect, if anyone's keeping score).
We begin with the Metro ride, always an event in-and-of itself. The boys are 10 and almost-7 now, and still love riding trains, as much as they did when they were toddlers. They like manipulating the Farecard machines to get our tickets; they enjoy counting the stops on the Metro map; they delight in looking out the windows at the aboveground stations (heck, even the graffiti on the buildings in certain sections of D.C. fascinates them! AND to get to the Smithsonian stop, you have to: change trains...utter joy). Even I have to admit, no matter how many times I've been there in my life, emerging from the station escalator onto the National Mall never fails to thrill me. Look left: Washington Monument. Look right: Capitol Building (but don't linger too long, or the out-of-towners who are gazing upward, rather than watching where they're going, just might trample you!)
For Friday's excursion, I chose the American History Museum, which the kids had never been to, and which I had last visited in, oh, maybe the 80s? There were some of the nostalgic things I remembered with great fondness...Fonzie's jacket, Dorothy's ruby slippers, a Kermit puppet, the First Ladies' gowns. These had been joined by some other neat mementos such as Apolo Ohno's skates, and Simba's mask and Rafiki's costume from the Lion King stage play. I enjoyed the painstakingly recreated model of Julia Child's kitchen, after having seen the movie Julie & Julia a few months ago. The boys had fun in the Invention room, where they built a working circuit and tried out a windsurfing demonstration. We all thought the Transportation wing was super-awesome...because, really, who doesn't ooh and aah over old locomotives and turn-of-the-century automobiles? (or is that just us?) I personally found the Military section to be mostly disturbing, but Derek darted around wide-eyed (boys and guns, what is up with that?). I did, however, marvel at the stone block of the Berlin Wall on display. And we all paused for a few moments of quiet reflection in front of the chunk of the World Trade Center from 9/11.
Finally, I deemed that they were sufficiently full of Culture (as they were beginning to get that glazed "I'm done" look), and we were ready to head back home. I felt pleased that we had managed to squeeze at least one Summer Fun Event into July, and had not utterly frittered the month away. Now we can go back to lounging on lawnchairs, sipping lemonade and fanning ourselves...until next week's first planned August Outing!
Parental Panic sets in. So it's time to get a move on and accomplish some of this Fun Stuff, by golly. Low-Key Summer Mom is about to go all Julie-the-Cruise-Director on your butts, so let's gear up and make some memories! (And no, the 2 times we've played Mini-Golf do not count! They weren't on the List, so we couldn't put that satisfying check mark to show our progress! Focus, people!) First up: Smithsonian (when getting such a late start, it's best to Go Big right out of the gate, I think.) This field trip ranks high for a couple of reasons: we get to ride a Metro train into downtown Washington D.C.; and we get to take in a unique (free!) museum (extra points for the Cultural aspect, if anyone's keeping score).
We begin with the Metro ride, always an event in-and-of itself. The boys are 10 and almost-7 now, and still love riding trains, as much as they did when they were toddlers. They like manipulating the Farecard machines to get our tickets; they enjoy counting the stops on the Metro map; they delight in looking out the windows at the aboveground stations (heck, even the graffiti on the buildings in certain sections of D.C. fascinates them! AND to get to the Smithsonian stop, you have to: change trains...utter joy). Even I have to admit, no matter how many times I've been there in my life, emerging from the station escalator onto the National Mall never fails to thrill me. Look left: Washington Monument. Look right: Capitol Building (but don't linger too long, or the out-of-towners who are gazing upward, rather than watching where they're going, just might trample you!)
For Friday's excursion, I chose the American History Museum, which the kids had never been to, and which I had last visited in, oh, maybe the 80s? There were some of the nostalgic things I remembered with great fondness...Fonzie's jacket, Dorothy's ruby slippers, a Kermit puppet, the First Ladies' gowns. These had been joined by some other neat mementos such as Apolo Ohno's skates, and Simba's mask and Rafiki's costume from the Lion King stage play. I enjoyed the painstakingly recreated model of Julia Child's kitchen, after having seen the movie Julie & Julia a few months ago. The boys had fun in the Invention room, where they built a working circuit and tried out a windsurfing demonstration. We all thought the Transportation wing was super-awesome...because, really, who doesn't ooh and aah over old locomotives and turn-of-the-century automobiles? (or is that just us?) I personally found the Military section to be mostly disturbing, but Derek darted around wide-eyed (boys and guns, what is up with that?). I did, however, marvel at the stone block of the Berlin Wall on display. And we all paused for a few moments of quiet reflection in front of the chunk of the World Trade Center from 9/11.
Finally, I deemed that they were sufficiently full of Culture (as they were beginning to get that glazed "I'm done" look), and we were ready to head back home. I felt pleased that we had managed to squeeze at least one Summer Fun Event into July, and had not utterly frittered the month away. Now we can go back to lounging on lawnchairs, sipping lemonade and fanning ourselves...until next week's first planned August Outing!
Monday, July 26, 2010
What's Cooking?
The most recent sign of "growing up"--or maybe the Apocalypse, I'm not sure which just yet--came from 10-year old Derek. He suddenly announced one day, "Mom, I want you to teach me how to cook!" Oh, so many tangled thoughts to sort out before I could even respond...should I go with brutally truthful: "But I loathe cooking!" Or unapologetically realistic: "Sure, this is how you program the microwave..." Or tip-of-the-tongue sarcastic: "Let's get right on that, Emeril." Fortunately what actually came out was more like, "Um, okay honey, you can help with tonight's dinner!"
Since I've been in a seriously Anti-Cooking Mode this summer, that first meal prepared by me and Assistant Chef Derek consisted of sunny-side-up eggs, microwave bacon, and toast. He cracked eggs into the pan (only a few shells), nuked the bacon (no burned fingers) and buttered the toast (most of the butter actually making it onto the bread). And when he was done, he absolutely beamed with pride and pleasure at his accomplishment. The next night, continuing with the "fast and easy" dinner plan, he tackled soup (from a can...microwaved...I really am slacking, aren't I) and grilled cheese. We discussed in great detail and with appropriate gravity the essential elements of an outstanding grilled cheese sandwich: assuring the proper butter-to-bread ratio; choosing the amount and type of cheese used; assessing desirable level of "brown-ness" and turning at the ideal moment; and assuring peak gooeyness of cheese without over-toasting.
And then when we were ready to serve our creations to the hungry family, Derek admitted, "Wow, cooking is hard work!" So it turns out that this little exercise was valuable to both of us for several reasons I couldn't have anticipated...most obviously, we shared some valuable Mom/Son bonding time. Secondly, Derek got a small glimpse into the fact that Mom has a tough job! Finally, my not-so-little-anymore young man gained a Real World Life Lesson in food prep for the future...you know, that much-anticipated period of my life when Derek will say, "Mom, I'm hungry," and I will reply, "That's nice, go make yourself something, dear!" (while continuing to relax with my feet up, reading a magazine and sipping my iced tea...ahh, such a beautiful daydream...)
Since I've been in a seriously Anti-Cooking Mode this summer, that first meal prepared by me and Assistant Chef Derek consisted of sunny-side-up eggs, microwave bacon, and toast. He cracked eggs into the pan (only a few shells), nuked the bacon (no burned fingers) and buttered the toast (most of the butter actually making it onto the bread). And when he was done, he absolutely beamed with pride and pleasure at his accomplishment. The next night, continuing with the "fast and easy" dinner plan, he tackled soup (from a can...microwaved...I really am slacking, aren't I) and grilled cheese. We discussed in great detail and with appropriate gravity the essential elements of an outstanding grilled cheese sandwich: assuring the proper butter-to-bread ratio; choosing the amount and type of cheese used; assessing desirable level of "brown-ness" and turning at the ideal moment; and assuring peak gooeyness of cheese without over-toasting.
And then when we were ready to serve our creations to the hungry family, Derek admitted, "Wow, cooking is hard work!" So it turns out that this little exercise was valuable to both of us for several reasons I couldn't have anticipated...most obviously, we shared some valuable Mom/Son bonding time. Secondly, Derek got a small glimpse into the fact that Mom has a tough job! Finally, my not-so-little-anymore young man gained a Real World Life Lesson in food prep for the future...you know, that much-anticipated period of my life when Derek will say, "Mom, I'm hungry," and I will reply, "That's nice, go make yourself something, dear!" (while continuing to relax with my feet up, reading a magazine and sipping my iced tea...ahh, such a beautiful daydream...)
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Stories of a Summer So Far
Each year as the boys get older I wonder which kind of Summer we're going to have: the one where two brothers get along in perfect harmony and play peacefully together from sunrise to sunset (stop laughing!), or the other variety, where there is more petty bickering, and picking on each other, and arguing about absolutely ridiculous things than you would normally see on The Real World (come to think of it, we've ONLY had the latter kind, but at least it's the PG version, no bleeping out the bad words, or bloody fistfights...yet).
This year Derek is 10, and experimentally dipping his toes into those murky pre-teen waters. I've discovered since school let out that this age comes with a growing ability to skillfully and effectively push your little brother's buttons. Derek seems to be enjoying exercising this newfound power, and figuring out just how far he can go before either Riley bursts into tears or Mom yells at him to knock it off. Just yesterday, he scored his first hit of the morning by refusing to give Riley a hug when he asked for one. Naturally Riley's sensitive feelings were hurt, and when I asked Derek (with exasperation, through gritted teeth--it was not yet 8:30 in the morning after all) why he couldn't just hug his brother, for crying out loud, he shot back, with a smart-alecky smirk, "hugs are unsanitary." (deep breathing, imagining my happy place...it's not working...)
But then there are times when they show that they do still appreciate their brotherly bond--like when they have "Brother Sleepovers" in each others' rooms and we can hear them chuckling after the lights go out (for all I know, they're regaling each other with their extensive repertoire of fart jokes, but hey, I don't have to listen, for once, so it's all good!) Or when they collaborate on Wii Guitar Hero to rock "We Are the Champions" (mohawked wild-man Riley banging the drums, more conservative buzz-cut Derek calmly working the guitar). Or even when they assign themselves international soccer player personas and relive World Cup games in the living room (Derek scoring goals, Riley blocking shots...Mom assigning Red Cards as necessary).
These moments--sandwiched in between the "Derek's being mean" and the "Riley's cheating" and the "I'm never playing with him again!"--give me hope that the boys will eventually develop a mature, non-confrontational brother relationship and enjoy each others' company most of the time. Or is that notion just as mythical as leprechauns and unicorns? Excuse me, I'm going back to my happy place...
This year Derek is 10, and experimentally dipping his toes into those murky pre-teen waters. I've discovered since school let out that this age comes with a growing ability to skillfully and effectively push your little brother's buttons. Derek seems to be enjoying exercising this newfound power, and figuring out just how far he can go before either Riley bursts into tears or Mom yells at him to knock it off. Just yesterday, he scored his first hit of the morning by refusing to give Riley a hug when he asked for one. Naturally Riley's sensitive feelings were hurt, and when I asked Derek (with exasperation, through gritted teeth--it was not yet 8:30 in the morning after all) why he couldn't just hug his brother, for crying out loud, he shot back, with a smart-alecky smirk, "hugs are unsanitary." (deep breathing, imagining my happy place...it's not working...)
But then there are times when they show that they do still appreciate their brotherly bond--like when they have "Brother Sleepovers" in each others' rooms and we can hear them chuckling after the lights go out (for all I know, they're regaling each other with their extensive repertoire of fart jokes, but hey, I don't have to listen, for once, so it's all good!) Or when they collaborate on Wii Guitar Hero to rock "We Are the Champions" (mohawked wild-man Riley banging the drums, more conservative buzz-cut Derek calmly working the guitar). Or even when they assign themselves international soccer player personas and relive World Cup games in the living room (Derek scoring goals, Riley blocking shots...Mom assigning Red Cards as necessary).
These moments--sandwiched in between the "Derek's being mean" and the "Riley's cheating" and the "I'm never playing with him again!"--give me hope that the boys will eventually develop a mature, non-confrontational brother relationship and enjoy each others' company most of the time. Or is that notion just as mythical as leprechauns and unicorns? Excuse me, I'm going back to my happy place...
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Warning: Very Punny
I grew up with a father who had a tremendous appreciation for the English language. For me and my siblings, this meant that he would frequently interrupt dinnertime conversation to correct what he saw as any egregious grammatical misstep (Me: "me and her were going..." Dad: (loudly) "she and I!") However, it is thanks to him that I unequivocably understand the difference between the subjective ("You and I are friends") and objective ("Let's keep this between you and me") pronoun case (and also the reason that I have an uncontrollable tendency to cringe at bad grammar, myself...). It also led to him having an insatiable proclivity for bad puns.
The reason I mention it is because this tragic character flaw seems to have surfaced without warning in my 10-year old son. Tonight my husband was pouring a beverage, and when the cold liquid touched the surface of the glass, it abruptly cracked. As we rushed to save the drink, Riley curiously asked why that had occurred. Never one to miss a "teachable moment", I explained that there must have been a "hairline crack" that had spread due to the sudden change in temperature. He of course then wanted to know what that term meant...and (once again--will I NEVER learn?) I answered without screening my words: "that means it's not visible to the naked eye." I did catch myself, though; I instantly turned to Derek, spied the mischievous gleam in his eye, and firmly advised him, "Do NOT make a 'naked eye' joke!"
Momentarily thwarted but apparently undaunted, he vanished into the adjacent room. Approximately 30 seconds later, he leaped into view, COMPLETELY NUDE, with a piece of paper Scotch-taped to his chest. On the paper he had simply written a capital "I". "Look", he gleefully exclaimed, "I'm a NAKED I!"
Oh. My. Goodness. Your Pop-Pop would be sooooo proud! (and heaven help the rest of us!)
The reason I mention it is because this tragic character flaw seems to have surfaced without warning in my 10-year old son. Tonight my husband was pouring a beverage, and when the cold liquid touched the surface of the glass, it abruptly cracked. As we rushed to save the drink, Riley curiously asked why that had occurred. Never one to miss a "teachable moment", I explained that there must have been a "hairline crack" that had spread due to the sudden change in temperature. He of course then wanted to know what that term meant...and (once again--will I NEVER learn?) I answered without screening my words: "that means it's not visible to the naked eye." I did catch myself, though; I instantly turned to Derek, spied the mischievous gleam in his eye, and firmly advised him, "Do NOT make a 'naked eye' joke!"
Momentarily thwarted but apparently undaunted, he vanished into the adjacent room. Approximately 30 seconds later, he leaped into view, COMPLETELY NUDE, with a piece of paper Scotch-taped to his chest. On the paper he had simply written a capital "I". "Look", he gleefully exclaimed, "I'm a NAKED I!"
Oh. My. Goodness. Your Pop-Pop would be sooooo proud! (and heaven help the rest of us!)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Music to my ears...
In the continuing saga of "I want to be exactly like my big brother", Riley lamented recently that he doesn't have his own mp3 player. It is of course useless to point out that Derek only has one because I upgraded mine, and passed on the little iPod Shuffle I didn't need anymore. It also makes absolutely no difference whatsoever--at least in his mind--that Riley is 3 years younger than Derek...when you're the second child, you see what's out there, and by golly, you want some of that cool stuff too!
So we'll probably get Riley his own inexpensive music player for his 7th birthday next month. Then I'm sure both he and Derek will thoughtfully provide me with handwritten lists of the songs they want me to download from iTunes. (They don't seem to be aware that this actually costs money...or they don't care because it's Mom's phantom credit card that makes it all magically happen for them!) Some of the latest selections have included Lady Gaga, Taio Cruz, Jason Derulo, and Iyaz. But I'm just a little concerned about what Riley will be requesting, since he boldly announced the other night that "my favorite singer is: Fergie!" Oh, really? I couldn't actually quiz him any further about just why he likes her, since Derek was rolling around on the floor gasping "Fergie...FERGIE!" in between bouts of giggling. However, the immediate effect of this proclamation has been that they now both walk around the house shouting "Imma Be...a monkey! Imma Be...your BUTT! etc., etc." (Sigh.)
There is one huge bright spot to this silliness, though...last night Riley had borrowed my player, and both boys were lying on my bed listening to their own tunes. And it was profoundly calm. For that blessed period before bedtime, there was no nonsensical chattering, no arguing, no talking loudly over each other, no poking or tackling or wrestling...and if that's how music tames the savage beasts, then let me just say: mp3 player: $60; music downloads: $30; a few minutes of peace and quiet: PRICELESS!!!!
So we'll probably get Riley his own inexpensive music player for his 7th birthday next month. Then I'm sure both he and Derek will thoughtfully provide me with handwritten lists of the songs they want me to download from iTunes. (They don't seem to be aware that this actually costs money...or they don't care because it's Mom's phantom credit card that makes it all magically happen for them!) Some of the latest selections have included Lady Gaga, Taio Cruz, Jason Derulo, and Iyaz. But I'm just a little concerned about what Riley will be requesting, since he boldly announced the other night that "my favorite singer is: Fergie!" Oh, really? I couldn't actually quiz him any further about just why he likes her, since Derek was rolling around on the floor gasping "Fergie...FERGIE!" in between bouts of giggling. However, the immediate effect of this proclamation has been that they now both walk around the house shouting "Imma Be...a monkey! Imma Be...your BUTT! etc., etc." (Sigh.)
There is one huge bright spot to this silliness, though...last night Riley had borrowed my player, and both boys were lying on my bed listening to their own tunes. And it was profoundly calm. For that blessed period before bedtime, there was no nonsensical chattering, no arguing, no talking loudly over each other, no poking or tackling or wrestling...and if that's how music tames the savage beasts, then let me just say: mp3 player: $60; music downloads: $30; a few minutes of peace and quiet: PRICELESS!!!!
Monday, July 12, 2010
Confession and Absolution, Family Style
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!)
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!)
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!
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