Memories

(Dedication--today's philosophical feeling and rambling reminiscences were inspired by: my younger son Riley.)

As we journey down our life's path, we encounter certain events along the way that we instantly recognize as Memories of a Lifetime. These classic milestones tend to be recalled with fondness ("remember Mardi Gras, '96?"), retold with gusto ("we stayed up all night playing pool!"), and embellished with abandon ("we must've had 100 strings of beads when we went home!"). We commemorate them with t-shirts from Disney World, photos of snorkeling with stingrays, and stories of shared connections ("we survived the Death-Defying Cab Ride in New York City! mmm, good times...") They become a part of our Personal History, and our Family Lore as well.

Kids, experiencing many things for the first time in their lives, embrace the world with a beautiful sense of wonder and joy. They're awesome at appreciating the Big Stuff.  BUT...they also notice and enjoy Little Things, in ways that we busy, stressed, distracted adults have forgotten how to--or don't make time to--do for ourselves. I think Grownups tend to get caught up in our everyday existence--school, work, sports practice, schedules, homework, to-do lists, errands, blah, blah, blah--because let's face it, if we stop to examine the very oozy and fascinating slug on the front porch, we might miss the school bus, and then we'll have to drive you, and be late for our job and...oops! There went another chance to stop the Runaway Parent Train and just act like a child again for a minute.

So (the point! I know you've been waiting for it, paddling patiently in my Stream of Consciousness) Riley, Derek, and Royce went to an Orioles game on Sunday. It was an absolutely gorgeous, sunny, warm day. The O's actually won, for a change. To top things off, the special Dugout Club kids' giveaway was a plastic batting helmet, which Riley liked so much he continued to wear until bedtime. In fact, it was such a Banner Day for him that when he got home, he solemnly informed Royce, "I'm going to keep this FOREVER...to remind me of my childhood." (Note: Riley is SEVEN...going on 17, at times.) A silly, cheap souvenir? Or a cherished token of one perfect day at a ballgame, male-bonding with your Dad and brother? In the eyes of my wise young man, it makes the Important Memory List. Little things, indeed.

Not your typical school year start...

Well, somehow September snuck up on me again, (yes, it happens every year, so you'd think I'd know better by now...but I firmly believe that the infamous Dog Days of August just melt my brain...yeah, we'll go with that...) and you know what that means: it's going to be a cool, crisp...94 degrees today! No, that's not it; September definitely doesn't mean Fall has arrived around here yet. Um, give me a minute...oh, I've got it: a new school year has started! Can you tell I'm still not quite in the swing of things? I blame our late-August vacation--it was a fabulous getaway, and a lovely way to wrap up the season, but the whole family seems to be suffering from a bit of a Summer Hangover. The kids are dragging their little butts out of bed grudgingly at 7:45--Derek even resorts to burying his head under the blanket some mornings (but I personally feel this is understandable and appropriate behavior, when your father visits your room at 7:40 and chirps in an obnoxiously perky voice, "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" I'm surprised the kid hasn't resorted to hurling stuffed animals at my husband's head...I surely would).

Anyway...I was a bit worried about the tone of the upcoming year when we visited the elementary school for Open House the day before school started. That's when the kids finally discover the answer to the Big Mystery: Who will be my Teacher this year? Before we looked at the lists posted on the front door of the school, Derek announced, "If I don't have Mrs. W (his 4th-grade teacher) again, I'm quitting school!" Of course he was exaggerating, but the 5th-grade hyperbole went over Little Brother's head, so he  enthusiastically agreed: "yeah, if I don't get Mrs. M (his former Kindergarten teacher), I'm quitting too!"
(Ohhh-kaaay, I don't care if you get Mrs. Frankenstein, NOBODY is dropping out of elementary school! And unfortunately it's still too early to apply to a Drama Program, so can we please take it down a notch?) Derek ended up with his former 2nd-grade teacher, which seemed acceptable to him. There was a tense moment when we found out that his two closest buddies were in different classes, but Derek kept a stiff upper lip about it and resigned himself to hanging out with them at recess. Riley got his Reading Teacher from last year, and was overjoyed (whew! because if anyone was going to run away from home over this, it would be him!)

So all of a sudden we had to jump back into the Weekday Routine--backpacks, lunchbags, bus stop, homework. When the boys came home after 7 hours in the Land of Learning, I asked Riley how his first day had been. "Miserable," he sighed. Uh oh. Dare I ask why? "Because of all the stuff we had to do!" Clearly we need to build up some stamina for the rigors of 2nd grade...and in my head I was thinking: "one day down, one-hundred seventy nine to go!" Derek on the other hand reported that things were just fine in the Wide World of 5th Grade. He even gets to switch teachers for Math, and his BFF is in his group (yay! bonding over algebra...or whatever.) However, he has a Math Book for the first time ever, and it weighs approximately a TON. Add this to his Data Binder (2 inches thick), and his backpack (before adding his lunch) clocks in at a hefty 10 pounds (yes, I put it on the scale to be sure). For a kid who himself weighs 70 pounds--fully clothed, soaking wet, after a huge meal--this seems ridiculous! I'm going to have to put my Chiropractor on speed-dial this year...

And then, just to add a little more (unnecessary, if you ask me) excitement to the first week, On Wednesday the kids finally trudged up the street almost a half-hour later than usual. Sometimes this happens due to a bus breaking down or schedules getting backed up with the earlier dropoffs, so I wasn't overly concerned. However, when I asked Derek the reason behind the delay, he nonchalantly informed me that the school had been on a Code Red Lockdown and no one was allowed to leave until the situation was resolved. Alrighty, now I've really missed something--what "situation"? "The bank across the street was being robbed!" What the WHAT? I mean, sure, it sounds like a pleasant way to spend Dismissal Time, in your locked classroom, with the lights out, huddled in a corner away from the windows. Holy Guacamole! Nothing like a little Criminal Activity to liven up a boring old school day!

As we careen toward the end of Week 1 of the 2010-2011 academic year, I have fervent hopes that the craziness is finished, to be replaced by a prevailing sense of calm normalcy. Almost to Labor Day Weekend...keep your fingers crossed!

Fish Tales

I've been on my environmental kick for a while now, not only adhering to the "Reduce, Re-use, Recycle" credo, but also trying to be more "natural" and less "chemical' whenever possible. Most of the time, the choices are easy and clear--ask my children how second-nature it is in our house to avoid "trans fats" and scan labels for the level of fiber in a given food product! (actually, you might not want to get them started, they can do a really good rant on Mommy the Food Nazi.) But after years of researching "green living" and reading health magazines and absorbing lists of advice (dividing the world neatly for you into what is "safe" and what is "evil and poisonous"), I have run into a problem. You see, my brain has reached Information Overload, which means that while I can generally retain the names of things I'm supposed to shun in my foods and skin-care products, I can no longer remember exactly WHY they're dangerous.

This came into play--believe it or not--when planning our recent vacation to the Caribbean (pause for a moment for me to dream yearningly of being back on a tropical beach...okay, I'm ready to continue). This summer I finally switched completely over to non-chemical sunscreens, containing zinc oxide and/or titanium dioxide. The only reason it took me this long was that almost ALL sunscreens you find on the shelves of your average drugstore or supermarket are comprised of the common chemical blockers, oxybenzone being the Biggie. Not only did I have to scour specialty "organic stores" for options, I also had to test out a boatload of them to find something that felt acceptable (not too greasy, not too sticky, not too cakey) on our skin...the boys and I are very picky about that. So, I finally found a couple that we liked, and prepared to pack them for our Cruise to Southern Islands. However, Husband expressed concerns about using the new formulas on our pasty-white Irish/Scandanavian children, since the SPF was "only" 27. I have found this to be true of natural sunscreens that use the physical blockers rather than the chemicals; for some reason SPF 30 is about as high as they go (rather than 50...or 70...or "you won't burn even if you visit the surface of the Sun" that oxybenzone seems to provide). I assured him that it would be fine if we just diligently reapplied every 2 hours or so...and crossed my fingers.

And you know, we WERE fine. Even in mid-August, under the Bahamian sun, cavorting in-and-out of the ocean, none of us got burned. Whew! Thank you, Mother Nature, for the use of your minerals! But here comes the punchline: one day while resting in our cabin, we turned on the TV and happened on a short presentation by Bill Nye the Science Guy. He was discussing "things we bring to the beach that harm the environment" such as plastic bags that end up in the ocean and strangle the sea life, and polyurethane surfboards that poison the water when they decompose, and...chemical sunscreens. According to him (and he MUST know what he's talking about, he's got "science" in his name, right?), oxybenzone acts as a hormonal disruptor in living creatures. When it washes off of us, either down the shower drain or directly into the ocean,  it harms the animals. In fact, they recently discovered some fish that, when tested in a lab, had evidence of oxybenzone in their tissues...and had changed gender from male to female.  Let's all stop here for a moment to go: EWWWWW!!

So that was an extremely timely and relevant refresher course for me on "why I choose to rub on the white lotion rather than the nasty oxy-stuff". I do of course realize we're a lot bigger than fish, and it would probably take years and years and layers and layers of sunblock to have an effect on our bodies...but why even take that chance? I intend to enjoy the last days of Summer safely, my friends!*

*The postscript is: Derek was watching with me, and seemed to find the whole story equally funny and disturbing; when we got home, he told it to several friends and their parents immediately--whether for the shock value or the PSA, I don't really know, but I'm proud of my little Green Crusader nonetheless!

7 years ago today...

...did NOT turn out the way it was "planned"! (Author's Warning...um...Disclosure of Adult Content...what I'm trying to say is: while I promise this does not contain any gory details, for some of you it MAY be TMI...read at your own risk...there, I've done my duty...)

Our story begins: I was pregnant with my second son, who was scheduled to be delivered by C-section on August 27th--that's right, tomorrow. He was in breech position, and although we'd tried everything we knew of to convince him to turn (including the "alternative": an acupuncture treatment to "coax the baby around"; and the "traditional": a hospital procedure that involved both of my OB doctors pushing on my belly really hard in opposite directions...) he was being thoroughly uncooperative. On August 26th, in the morning, I took 3-year old Derek with me to the gym so I could work out one last time (Well, I wouldn't be able to for the rest of the week, now would I? Somehow it made perfect sense at the time...). That afternoon, when I woke up from Mommy Rest Time (of course I mean "Derek Nap Time When Mommy Just Rests Her Eyes"), my stomach sort of hurt. I thought maybe lunch wasn't agreeing with me, and ignored it. However, the pain slowly worsened, to the point that I was having trouble conversing with Derek...other than "go watch Sesame Street, honey, Mommy doesn't feel well." Now, at this point you're slapping your forehead thinking "DUH", why couldn't you figure out what was happening? In my defense, I never actually went into labor with Derek. My water broke, I went to the hospital, and I had to be administered Pitocin to jump-start the contractions. So I can be forgiven for not recognizing them right away. Also, the entire point of setting up a nice, routine C-section is: you're supposed to take the baby out before the due date, bypassing that whole "labor" thing altogether. (The best laid plans of mice and...babies...or something like that...)

Anyway, it finally dawned on me what was occurring, and I hastily called my mother and husband. Mom had the role of Derek-Wrangler for the evening, and was about a 35-minute drive away. Husband was at work, the same distance away in the other direction. After I hung up the phone and sat down somewhere, trying to recall how to breathe through *@$# contractions (that I wasn't supposed to have--did I mention that already?)...the skies opened up. Pounding rain, booming thunder, pyrotechnic lightning, the whole works. Mom and Husband now had to contend with a nightmare drive while I breathed, and started another video for Derek...and the lights went out. I remember thinking "Really? Does this need to be any MORE of a stinkin' adventure?" Finally both travelers arrived, with exciting tales of traffic signals out, tree branches downed across roads, minor flooding--fortunately the hospital is about a mile-and-a-half from our house so we made it with no further incidents.

Upon arrival, we found the hospital running on Emergency Generators, since their power was out as well. They were busily and efficiently sending everyone home who was there for "elective procedures", but they glanced my way and immediately assured me, "you can stay"! The staff got me checked into a room and we all awaited my doctor's arrival. Meanwhile, Husband asked me how I was feeling; I could honestly report that the pain was at the level where I'd asked (okay, begged) for an epidural the first time around. This was puzzling to me, since with Derek's birth, progress had been slooowww and steady--to the point that I'd been able to watch an entire Orioles game during the process. When Dr. W arrived, she seemed as if she didn't quite believe me: "Let's see if we're having this baby tonight, or waiting a little" she gently said with a kind smile (the implied message being "jeez, lady, you were supposed to be here at 10:00 tomorrow morning, couldn't you have just held off a little bit longer?") However, after she'd examined me for approximately a second she briskly said, "I'll go wash up and see you in a few minutes." Turns out this whole "having a baby thing" was proceeding  apace, whether we were absolutely ready or not!

So, instead of 10:00 a.m. August 27th, Riley Christopher joined us at 8:01--in the midst of a monster thunderstorm and power outage--August 26th. (One other mystery was finally explained that night: when the nurses weighed him, Riley was about 2 pounds more than his brother had been, and I'd gained 10 pounds less during the pregnancy...meaning he'd been packed so tightly in that he hadn't actually had ROOM to turn around! Who knew? Should've had extra ice cream after all!) Seven years later, Riley's still a force to be reckoned with, doing things his own way, keeping our lives interesting. Happy birthday, Ri-guy!

Ahoy, Land Ho!

Ho hum…another day of boundless ocean, gigantic puffy clouds, repeated noshing, Lido Deck swimming, and Sun Deck strolling…yawwwwnnn!* We are chugging our way back up the East Coast toward Baltimore today, and I believe the kids are ready to return to their Home Port. How do I know? The first clue appeared last night, when Riley huffily stomped up the ladder into the top bunk, flopped himself down, buried his head under the pillow and emphatically declared, “I’ve had ENOUGH of family togetherness for this vacation!”  This morning he was calmer, but he still fondly reminisced about his bed and his “own room” that he was looking forward to seeing again (jeez, you’d think we’d been gone for a month!).  Meanwhile, it suddenly occurred to Derek that he’d been without Disney Channel and his DS for days! (His horror at this realization was as sarcastically dramatic as only a 10-year old can be…) He calmed himself by reviewing in his head all the shows he had set up to record on the DVR in his absence. (Hey, some of us take deep, cleansing breaths, others meditate in more unusual ways…)

For me, this week-away-from-home has meant much more than Sun, Surf, and Sand (although those have been fabulous!). It has been a glorious respite from mundane tasks like laundry, for instance (okay, I did ONE load while on the ship, but it’s far better than my usual one load every day!).  I have basked in an endless array of delicious food, all of which has been prepared by someone else! (and whoever you are, BLESS YOU! now can you come home with me?)  Friendly, efficient Cabin Stewards have stopped by to tidy up twice a day, thereby eliminating all of my usual cleaning duties. Most of all, this week at sea has given me a vacation from the chore that is the absolute bane of my existence: grocery shopping. Seriously, remember the old Cheers theme song “Where Everybody Knows Your Name”? I swear they sing a chorus of that for me every time I enter Giant Foods.  So, while I’m not a “lie-in-a-chaise-lounge-reading-for-hours” kind of girl, I feel that I have experienced a refreshing week of rest and relaxation nonetheless. Tomorrow, it’s back to laundry, and cooking, and trips to the supermarket…but today, call me Queen of the Riviera Deck, if you please!

*how seaworthy am I? while walking around on deck today, I glanced up at the darkened sky and instantly thought “hmm, storm clouds off the Port Side!” next I’ll be checking my sextant and…nevermind, that’s about all the navigational lingo I know! 

Avast, Ye Scurvy Dogs! (have we been at sea too long?)

Today we decided to order (complimentary) Room Service Breakfast…just because we could. Coffee, juice, cereal, danish—all delivered to your door at the exact hour of your choosing—is this a great vacation, or what? Then we commenced our Routine Beach Drill of sunscreening ourselves out the wazoo (as a matter of fact, I’ll bet we covered the wazoo as well) with environmentally-sensitive, health-conscious anti-sun-goop. Followed by swimsuits and rashguard shirts. And hats. Now we’re ready, let us out there!

“Out there” meant Freeport, Grand Bahama Island today.  I will admit, right up front, that this was not my favorite port. Immediately upon leaving the ship, you had to catch a taxi to get to the beach area. That’ll be $5 a person, one way, please. Our driver, Clayton, was amusing, though, as he narrated the trip: “those are the gasoline tanks, gas costs $4.29  a gallon right now”; “that’s a grocery store, where everything is expensive, as it must be imported from the U.S.”; “those beautiful houses over there cost about $40,000”. Do you get the feeling this island runs on dollars and cents? This will become clearer…

When we reached the actual Sand and Surf, it was…nice enough. Nothing like the exquisite, mostly unspoiled landscape of Half-Moon Cay. Here you practically tripped over the spirit of Rampant Commercialism and the packs of aggressive hard-selling vendors the minute you stepped out onto the beach. “Lady, you want your hair braided? How about a shark-tooth necklace for the boys? Take home a lovely conch shell?” After about 5 minutes I wanted to throw seaweed at someone. Then there were the Fun Fees—you’d like to jump off the giant inflatable raft floating in the swimming area? You must pay. You want to put your towels (or your rear end) on a beach chair? Certainly…for $10.  Are you KIDDING me? Riley picked up on my disdain for this ridiculous system and jumped right into it: “How much to stand here under the palm tree? Is breathing even free?” (I was so proud…that kid is developing into quite a first-rate Junior Ranter!) But Derek came up with the zinger of the day: “Freeport? More like “Expensiveport!”

So back to the ship we went (another $5/person taxi ride later, of course) to clean up and eat (the food we already paid for, so it seemed free, anyway). I know that the kids are wearing out with all this fabulous fresh air and frolicking…how do I know? Today Derek--get ready for a stunner--Didn’t. Want. Dessert! He preferred to go back to the cabin and…REST!!  I know! I’m still in shock, too! But we have one more Fun Day at Sea to enjoy relaxing to the max before we become Land Lubbers once more. Here’s to making the most of Life on the High Seas for a little while longer…

Bahama Mama!

Yes, that’s what the children have officially dubbed me, to their great delight (I don’t think they know it’s a fruity rum drink…mmm, rum drink…where was I?) Oh, yes: we pulled into the very aptly named Half Moon Cay (shaped like a…well, you get the idea) at 9 a.m. and caught a “tender boat” (fancy nautical term for: small motorboat) to the mainland. I’d like to say the first thing we noticed was the absolutely stunning beach—but that would be a lie. In reality, the oppressive Wall of Heat was what immediately struck us (literally). Hot enough to toast tourists, I tell ya (at breakfast time! Sheesh! By afternoon I think it must be called “Bahamian Broil”.)  THEN we spied the powder-white sand and crystal-clear water of the Caribbean Beach. Toes visible through the seawater? Check. Little fishies swimming around your ankles in the shallows? Check. Warm, gentle waves lapping at your body? Check. Aaah…

But we couldn’t linger just yet, as we had signed up for a Close Encounter with Stingrays. After donning snorkel gear and water shoes, we ventured out into the shallow Stingray Cove, where 3-to-4 foot rays glided around and under us in the extremely salty pool. They gracefully flapped through the water, fearlessly brushing us with their feathery-soft wings once in a while. It was so, so COOL! Before we left, we each got to hold a small (deceased, thank goodness!) squid and let a stingray suck it out of our hands under the watchful eyes of the trainer. Up close and personal with Nature, just how we like it! Later, we took a Historic Nature Walk with a native Bahamian guide who fed us tidbits about the island and the local flora and fauna. What did we take away from this? Island natives brew tea out of MANY different trees! Also, the Bahamas is comprised of 700 islands, 26 of which are inhabited…and in school, you have to learn ALL of their names! Finally, there is a tree whose pods, when eaten, cause one to…ahem…become very flatulent. Bahamian children have been known to eat these at recess, thus getting themselves dismissed from class (what can I say? our guide told us she has four boys, herself!)

Then while the Sons of Poseidon splashed in the sea, I took my own “artsy walk”, just me and my camera. I strolled around the C-shaped cove to the extreme far end of the beach, until I encountered a sign that warned, “Proceeding beyond this point is dangerous and prohibited.” That’s me, I just have to keep right on going until the beach runs out (sounds like a rejected Kenny Chesney song idea, doesn’t it?) But all of a sudden, the midafternoon sun caught up with us, and we were desperate for a shower…and air-conditioning.  So long, Half-Moon Cay, we enjoyed ourselves immensely!

Mother Mother Ocean

“Fun Day at Sea #2”: Woke up, and the Monster Headache was miraculously gone. My body must have decided that I was not, in fact, getting off this oceanliner-type-thing, so we’d better just get with the seagoing program. Welcome back to the Land of Eating! (Hello, Buffet!) There are an awful lot of things to do on this Party Boat, and today we determined to try…a bunch of them. We swam in the pool (which incidentally is filled with salt water from the ocean…weird, but cool! Also, it has a deep ledge built all around it, and as the ship rolls gently from side to side, a miniature tidal wave washes water from the pool back and forth to the walls. This means that technically, you don’t even have to be IN the pool to get wet. I just sat there on the ledge, leaning against the enclosure, and let the water come to me. How’s THAT for lazy vacation behavior?). We lounged in the hot tub (when idly waiting for the water to come splash me was just becoming too much work…) We played ping pong (why? Because it was there, of course.) We played basketball. We did NOT karaoke—we do have our standards, after all. We continued our walking program, around and around and around the Sun Deck, to counteract the semi-nonstop munching we were also doing. (Philosophical question: if 10 scrumptious-looking desserts are offered at each meal, and a hypothetical passenger—say me, for example--has paid to eat as much as she wants on this cruise, should she then feel compelled to taste each and every sweet treat? Okay, maybe just all the chocolate ones. That’s reasonable, right? I promise I’ll do more laps!)

Welcome to Grand Turk! How’s this for adjustment: when we pulled into port, the fact that the engines had stopped their rumbling and the ship had ceased its rocking…woke me up!  Derek and Riley complained about waking up early since we’d landed at 7 a.m. but we mustered them with the promise of…breakfast (What? You didn’t think for a second that we could venture onshore without eating again, did you?) Looking over the side of the ship at the Caribbean Ocean I thought, “WOW that’s blue!” A total cliché, I realize, but it is SOOO true. Turquoise water, chaise lounges set up in rows under palm trees, an ocean breeze tempering the tropical heat…yes, I have sailed right to Heaven. I stayed pretty near the shore (deep-water-wimp that I am), but I still saw schools of little fish darting around my feet, and even a Nurse Shark (according to a lady standing near me, who sounded authoritative and knowledgeable, so what the heck, I believe her!) The boys (all 3) on the other hand, disappeared with the snorkel gear out to the limits of the roped-in buoy area and ogled all kinds of submarine wildlife. For hours. Hey, I was fine with that—I had myself a walk on the beach, a peaceful period of reclining in a beach chair watching all the activity, and a smoothie (mango/banana/pineapple—YUM!). Color me one Cheerful Caribbean Chica!

The Stateroom Life of Derek and Riley...

Embarkation Day: What did everyone want to do first? Eat, of course. I mean really, the promise of All-You-Can-Eat Vacation needed to be tested at once. Then came the mandatory “what to do in the unlikely event of an Abandon Ship Order” briefing. THEN we set sail…slowly turning in an enormous circle and gliding out of the Baltimore Harbor. We explored the ship extensively that first night, quickly determining certain inarguable facts such as:

1. It is 135 stair-steps from our Cabin on Deck 1 (the Riviera Deck) to Deck 9 (the Lido Deck—and yes, I DO have the Love Boat theme stuck in my head) where many of the restaurants and pools are located. 
2. We decided immediately that we would always take the stairs, thus burning off the approximately 5,000 calories a day we would consume in soft-serve ice cream. Also helpful, the “Sun Deck” is marked with the information that 3.5 laps around=1 mile. I see lots of circles ahead for me…in between meals…
3. Soft-serve ice cream is available 24-hours a day. Derek can confirm this…when he couldn’t sleep the first night, he and Royce went for a walk/ice-cream excursion at 1:30 a.m.
4. Bunk beds in a ship’s cabin are endlessly fascinating. Particularly leaping from the top bunk to the ground. Or throwing things off the side onto your brother’s head. 
5. Also, staring out the window (I paid extra for that window, so we’d better get our money’s worth!) at the ocean as it flows by is a source of constant amusement and commentary. Some of the scintillating updates to which we were treated include: “Wow, look at those waves!”  “I can’t see land anymore!” “We seem to be moving so fast!” Riveting, I tell ya.

“First Fun Day at Sea”:  (yep, you’re required to call it that, it says so on the Fun Times Brochure the Room Steward leaves in your cabin every day.) It didn’t start out so fun, actually. Derek and Riley sat at breakfast looking absolutely green. They still managed to have a pastry and some Lucky Charms (although that was probably the result of not being permitted to eat marshmallow-filled cereal while at home). Royce chowed down on a full breakfast. I delicately sipped some juice…then went out on deck for some fresh air. Evidently, “motion sickness” for me takes the form of a nasty, killer headache and lack of appetite. It could have been worse—I never felt queasy—but that whole first day I was happiest when lying down with my eyes closed, which I did every few hours (hey, it’s a vacation, we call them NAPS!) I attempted to rally for the “Elegant Evening”, since goshdarnit, I’d bought a dress (and a sweater, and heels) just for the one formal dinner onboard. The boys wore their specially-purchased khakis and polo shirts, which Derek declared “well worth it” when he was allowed to select lobster-tail and shrimp from the adult menu. (Don’t get used to it, pal!) We returned to our room to find the beds turned down, chocolate mints on our pillows, and a lobster made out of folded towels (little things really amuse us, can you tell?) . So ended a successful first day on the ocean…

What passes as conversation around here...

Every parent I know has remarked at one time or another--usually with a combination of incredulity and consternation (that is, if our Parental Brains aren't too fried to remember such big words)--on the astonishing things that have come out of their mouths, things that they never in a million years thought they'd have occasion to utter. For me, these ridiculous statements inevitably center around Boy Stuff. Now, I did grow up with a brother, but he's 9 years younger than me. I was already busy flitting around in my High School World when he began Kindergarten, and then I went away to college when he was in 4th grade, so I somehow missed a lot of this early male goofiness. (But I know now that I really should have taken better notes when I had the chance!) These days, inundated as I am with maleness, I could not have imagined actually saying to someone: "Do not EVER lick your brother's foot! It's unsanitary!" (Usually after an incident like that, I am shocked into silence by my own words, and end up staring around the room, bemusedly waiting for someone to explain to me what just happened. Sadly, no one ever does...)

Another ridiculous warning I had to give recently was: "If you say the word 'wiener' one more time, you're going to your room!" Seriously? I'm torn trying to decide which is more absurd, that they actually talk about their private parts incessantly, or that I feel the need to regulate penile euphemisms. And then of course there's the fascination with bodily functions, which seem to be a constant source of Male Conversation in our house. I wage a constant, relentless war against "fart talk" (because really, there's nothing that annoys me more...unless it's "pee talk"...or "poop talk". Okay, it ALL gets on my very last nerve!), but it seems that the universe might be conspiring against me. The other day we were in the grocery store (where, incidentally, I don't even flinch anymore when admonishing the boys to "stop scanning each other's butts"! Just another "who knew I'd ever use that" phrase.) when Riley suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach. It took a second for me to determine that he was not, in fact, about to hurl in the middle of the aisle (thank goodness for that, at least). I realized he was roaring with laughter at something, and when he caught his breath enough to share, he pointed at the enormous, colorful sign hanging overhead and gasped, "Giant Gas Rewards! Mom, have you earned a lot of Giant Gas Rewards yet?" (because, you know, getting a prize for winning a farting contest would be the Greatest Thing Ever to them)

Epilogue: Upon arriving home, they related the story to their father, gleefully and with much snickering. And what did Dad do? Cackled appreciatively and commented, "Yeah, that IS funny!"  That's it!  I. Give. Up. Anyone with daughters want to invite me over for a polite, ladylike tea party? I could use some girl-bonding right about now!