Da Doo Run Run Run...

Occasionally (okay, pretty frequently...alright, alright, all the stinkin' time) I experience a day that has me running circles to accomplish everything on my Do-or-Die (whoops, I mean To Do) Agenda. And that's fine; it comes with the territory of being a Wife/Mother/Household Manager. Since I'm an obsessive List-Maker, I write a detailed plan, usually even in the chronological or topographical order in which each item must be checked off, to maximize my time, energy, and gas mileage. The system generally makes sense to me...except when I pause to actually read my ridiculous schedule once in a while, and have to laugh at the absurdity of my rambling life.

Take today, for example. It started off with the regular stuff: (drink coffee--it goes without saying, but nothing gets done around here until that crucial first step occurs) feed kids, load up bookbags, shuttle them (boys and backpacks) to the bus-stop. Then the real fun begins. Here are the Stations I visited on my own personal Magical Mystery Tour of June 8, 2011 (minus the psychadelics, which might have helped things along...or at least enhanced the ride):

--Giant Food (Because no matter how much I beg, cajole, threaten or bribe, they just Won't. Stop. Eating. The nerve of those darn "growing boys"!)

--the Elementary School for a two-pronged errand...distribute the last edition of the Student Newspaper, hot off the presses, and see Riley perform in the 2nd-Grade Play (in which he made a concerted--ha ha--attempt to sing the songs while hiding behind the boy next to him, to prevent me from taking pictures. Doesn't matter, I caught him on video anyway, looking grumpy, but obediently following the tune and doing the hand motions nonetheless. Now who's the Most Stubborn? Oh wait, that's not a good title to have, is it?)

--Target for yet another birthday present. And just let me point out that from May 21st to June 18th (yes, we're talking 4 weeks), the Party Invitation Total stands at Riley: 3; Derek: 3, and an extra one that included them both. What the? And that doesn't even count End-of-the-School-Year shindigs, or Soccer picnics, or 5th-Grade Graduation galas. My kids' Social Life suddenly requires not only multi-colored pens to differentiate their activities on the Master Calendar, but also sticky notes, and coordination of transportation for pickup and dropoff, and major gift purchasing. And did I mention how many fun, fabulous fiestas I'm attending this month? Zip! Zilch! Nada! (Not entirely true--I do have Events of my own...just not nearly as many!)

--the Container Store (or, as I like to call it, the "Cute Little Boxes to Hold Absolutely Everything" Store. That doesn't fit on a sign as well, so I can understand why they shortened it.) It frightens me a little (okay, a lot) how fascinating I find this particular place. I could wander around in there all day, oohing and aahing at all the clever packages...a box shaped exactly like a pack of hot dogs! Who knew you needed to treat your processed meat products so delicately? (Well, I don't, but apparently, some folks do!) Ingeniously-designed separators to keep your socks matched and under control! (I do love me some organized drawers...but I do NOT need this...walk away, you can do it...) I managed to squelch the impulse to examine every single item in the vast array of Organizational Tools, selected my sandwich-and-snack-size boxes for lunch-packing purposes, and beat a hasty retreat.

That concluded the running-around portion of my day. I then was able to leave the 90+ degree heat and humidity of the Outside World and return triumphantly to the relative calm and cool of my air-conditioned house...to check emails, make phone calls, do laundry, and...arrange Thursday's Schedule! In order to make it more motivating and rewarding, I think I'll add "Eat Ice Cream" to the bottom of tomorrow's tasks!

The Butterfly Effect

Last Friday, I awoke to absolutely heavenly weather--brilliantly-blue skies, gentle breeze, warm sunshine; in short, a delightful day to spend outside. I passed the morning traipsing amongst the brick pathways of nearby Brookside Gardens, admiring the enormous variety of colorful, sweetly-scented flowers, learning about butterflies in a special exhibit dedicated to these delicate winged insects, and generally soaking in Nature in all her glory. And man, was it utterly exhausting. Why, you ask? Oh, did I neglect to mention the six...enthusiastic... 2nd-graders I was charged with corralling and controlling on this School Outing?

At first, I found myself (soothed by the pastoral setting, no doubt) smiling benignly at the combined energy and excitement of a pack of semi-tame 8-year olds. However...after the tenth repetition of the following Rule Reminders: "No running! Stay with the group! (and my favorite) "We walk on the sidewalk, NOT the ornamental stone wall!" (If it had been only my own children, I would have been tempted to add "DUH! What, have you never been out in public before?"), the level of rambunctiousness started to wear very thin. I swear, it's like they all ingested big heaping bowls of sugar for breakfast...with a Pepsi chaser. (And since my little darling was of course assigned to me, I can assure you that at least for him, this was not the case. So I have no idea what the HECK caused his spazziness...Overdose of Fresh Air? Pollen Overload from sniffing all those pretty blooms? Or just a Natural Field Trip High?)

Finally, after our scheduled time of uncontrolled-leaping-about-the-gardens had come to a close (oh thank goodness), we were allowed inside the actual Butterfly House to observe the flitting and flying creatures up-close-and-personal. If possible, the kids were even more charged up by being in close proximity to the butterflies. They stood open-mouthed, eyes raised to watch the swooping, fluttering, and occasionally, landing of the gorgeous, graceful fliers. They were quieter than they'd been all day--except when a bold (foolish...endangered) butterfly would land on a student's arm or shirt, causing a sudden outburst of shrieking, pointing, and general mayhem. My nerves must have been wearing thin by this point, because when one of Riley's friends exclaimed, "Look! I can see its proboscis!" I automatically started to scold, "Hey, we don't use that kind of language!" before my fatigued brain caught up and I realized ...oh...nevermind...official-scientific-bug-term..."Good job, Jason! Keep up the nice work!" Riley's one and only complaint when it was time to leave was that more butterflies didn't land on HIM while he was exploring their habitat. I felt compelled to point out that, if the wannabe-entomologists hadn't all been buzzing around like hyperactive hummingbirds at the time, they might not have frightened off the other wildlife.

At last the teachers instructed their students to kindly desist from menacing the flora and fauna, and get their bums back on the bus for the return to school. Free of the responsibility of herding and supervising my Butterfly Posse, I waved them goodbye with a warm surge of affection...magnified by the fact that I had driven my own car...and therefore didn't have to endure the bus ride with them. So, although it was certainly no relaxing "walk in the park", Nature, the 2nd-graders, and the chaperones all came through unscathed; therefore, we'll chalk this one up as an all-around successful Educational Experience. Now could someone get me a a bowl of sugar and a Pepsi to help me recover?

Lights, Camera, Action!

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Johna...and I am a Netflix Junkie. My first clue that I just might be developing a...dependency...came when I found myself sprinting to the mailbox (okay, it's only about 25 feet, so I probably...stroll briskly) to retrieve my latest DVD in its bright red envelope. I then eagerly rip it open (obediently following instructions to tear along the pre-perforated lines) to reveal the movie I've chosen, one that will hopefully provide me a few hours of escapist entertainment. After the kids are safely tucked in bed on these Movie Nights, I curl up on the couch for the duration, ignoring all chores and other obligations (We're out of milk? It'll wait until tomorrow! Hey, I fed everyone and supervised Homework Time, that counts for something!)

Having grown up in the 70s, I have to believe that at least part of the allure of the mail-order-film-thing is how different it is from my childhood experience. First of all, my Mom and Dad were possibly the last people on the planet to concede to buying on of those newfangled VCR-thingamabobs. Then once we (at long last) owned one, we had to travel to a Video Shop (for us, a 10-15 minute drive, depending on whether we could be satisfied with the miniscule selection but cheaper prices of the local family-run outfit, or wanted to go a little further for the vast choices and higher cost of the Mega-Store one town over). Then we perused the shelves, peering around other customers camped in front of the New Releases section, hoping the most current flick had at least one copy available. Once we made a decision, we waited in line (practically around the block, on a Friday or Saturday night) for the honor of taking the videotape home to watch. Of course, when we were done, we got the pleasure of driving back to the store to return the tape. If it turned out to be a good show, and we had enjoyed a nice family viewing time, this process might have felt like five dollars well-spent. But if we had chosen a dud, it seemed irritating beyond belief.

So you can see why I get a little giddy over the fact that I pay approximately ten bucks a month to pick and watch as many movies as I want, right? Which incidentally leads me to my second confession: because it feels so cost-efficient and affordable, and because the logistics are so very easy (walk to mailbox! repeat!) I take absolutely no responsibility to ensure that I'm making a quality selection. I'll take a shot on just about anything. (Of course this open-minded policy has led to some real turkeys...Hot Tub Time Machine, for example. Alas, John Cusack, I never dreamed you could disappoint me so! There may have been no monetary penalty, but I want my two hours back!) And if I determine in the first half-hour or so that it absolutely stinks...or I just don't like it, I feel no guilt whatsoever in clicking that Off Button (defiantly--take that, bad movie!), shoving it back in that cleverly-designed, pre-paid package, and whisking it straight back to the warehouse. Then I make up for it with a mindless, super-fun flick like Iron Man 2 (who knew Robert Downey Jr. as a comic book character would be so awesome?) Send me my next risk-free option, please!

I must say, though, that my devil-may-care attitude has also prompted me to tiptoe down some cinematic paths I would have previously avoided like the plague. Such as...Oscar Nominees. I always figured those were too highbrow and challenging for someone who resides happily in the "Light and Fluffy" realm of movie viewing. But I checked out The King's Speech, and what do you know, it lived up to the hype! (also: Colin Firth. Enough said.) Another potentially dangerous category: documentaries. I've sat through some visual stunners (Under the Sea), some heartwarming narratives (Born Free) and some...nausea-inducing-but-educational lessons (Food, Inc.). Finally, in the past two weeks I have--through no conscious plan--ended up with not one, but TWO separate movies based on true stories with varyingly tragic endings. In the first (127 Hours) a man treks out into a gorgeous-but-desolate area to hike...alone...without telling anyone where he's going... gets pinned to a rock wall in a narrow crevice due to a freak accident...and must hack off his own arm with a dull penknife in order to escape and survive. Believe it or not, it was compelling, except that it was difficult for me not to yell at the TV the entire time "WHY didn't you call your mother before you left? Idiot!" In the second (Into the Wild), a brilliant, quirky, recent-college-graduate abandons his life of wealth and privilege to wander the Earth--searching his soul, seeking a meaningful existence, and communing with Nature. He finally realizes his dream of reaching Alaska, where he sets up an isolated camp and pursues a simple life. It's all extremely inspirational and moving and fascinating...right up until he mistakes one nutritious, edible wild plant for a poisonous, deadly one...and dies a prolonged, excruciating, horrible death. Jeez Louise! I think it's safe to say I am D-O-N-E with real-life dramas--that end in death or dismemberment.

Whew, I feel better for getting all that off my chest. And I guess as far as vices go, Excessive Movie Viewing--even with a penchant for Bad Films--ranks pretty low on the "must-seek-intervention" scale. Hey, the weekend's coming...maybe I'll check and see if The A-Team is out on DVD yet! (Bradley Cooper. Enough said!)

Exploring Towns and Trails...

It has been well-documented (by me, anyway) that I am a First-Class History Nerd (Do you like that? I just made up my own Title! I figure if I'm going to make fun of myself AND be an overgrown Student, I might as well sound official and high-ranking). When I wrangle a few spare hours in my schedule and can sneak away, I love to drive to Places of Historical Importance and take pictures, while walking around reading each and every one of the informational signs (taking notes of course in case someone quizzes me later...sadly no one has yet tested me on how much I've retained from my self-imposed "classes"...obviously it doesn't stop me from giving an Oral and/or Written Report anyway). Now, one of the utter joys of Parenthood is: I get to drag my children along! On their long weekend! You want to go to the pool? Nah, we're going to grab this Memorial Day opportunity to take the first Family Field Trip of the season! Put down the beach towel and goggles, and get in the car!

All joking aside, I am lucky that my family doesn't just come along because I say so (although they do understand that "Mom's Word is Law"...hahahahaha!); they actually savor these jaunts as much as I do. This time, we ventured out to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, site of John Brown's Rebellion in 1859, and also repeated occupation and destruction during the Civil War a few years later. These days, it's a quaint little town, with buildings preserved or reconstructed to resemble their 1800s appearance. Dry Goods Store (stacked with cloth, cooking needs, and other household supplies), Provost Marshall's Office (complete with a list on the wall of Prisoners being held in the local jail), Boarding House--you can wander in and marvel at the apparent simplicity of life 150 years ago. Harpers Ferry also sits on a railroad line which is still in use today (yes, several trains chugged by while we were there...and yes, it was thrilling for the boys, who may never outgrow their fascination with locomotives!) To make it even more strategically significant during the War Between the States: the C & O Canal, the Potomac River AND the Shenendoah River all meander through this tiny 'burb. Since it's also nestled in a small valley in the Blue Ridge Mountains, you can climb up to some bluffs and enjoy a breathtaking panoramic view overlooking the rivers and the tree-covered hillsides.

As we traversed the steep, narrow streets, popping in and out of souvenir shops and educational spots, Derek played it ultra-low-key--fully and agreeably participating, just...quietly. Riley made up for it by bouncing up and down like an overactive puppy, exclaiming every few steps "This is so awesome! I love Harpers Ferry! Best day EVER!" (In case you're wondering, I checked the Trail Mix I had thrown together for our pre-hiking snack, and there was definitely not any kind of stimulant in it. He's just brimming with youthful exuberance, I guess!) After filling up on history, fruit, and nuts, it was time to tackle our next challenge--hiking. The Appalacian Trail passes through Harpers Ferry, and we were determined to do at least a small piece of it (assuring the boys we would not be force-marching them to Maine or Georgia...not today, anyway.) We've walked bits of the Trail before, but let me just tell you, this section was pretty rough. As in: straight uphill, rocky, and often one-person wide. While we began our trek filled with energy and excitement, I don't think we made it even a mile before turning around and heading back (blessedly) downhill. Riley (the shortest of our Outdoor Crew) called "Uncle" first, but honestly, no one disagreed with him. (Even though Derek, just to be oppositional, pointedly continued to leap over boulders and sprint up inclines and declare himself "not tired".) So it turned out to be a short but satisfying hike for us.

I can only hope that by starting them young, I've successfully brainwashed--I mean trained--the boys to appreciate these excursions, so we get as many years as possible out of them before they're "too cool" to hang out with their parents. Hey, you think it would help if I made us all First Class History Nerd badges to wear? On second thought, maybe I'd be better off just sprinkling caffeine into the trail mix when it becomes necessary...

My baby left me! (well, sort of...)

My older son Derek has never been what you'd call a "boundary pusher". He tends to accept whatever limitations we place on him without complaint, and doesn't often press us for more freedom or privileges. It was only in the last few months--when one of his friends began calling and asking if Derek could come to his house--that I allowed him to ride his bike alone, out into the big, scary world...to the end of our street, around the corner and one cul-de-sac over. Maybe it's a First Child thing; Derek isn't trying to follow in anyone's footsteps, looking up to someone who gets to go more places and do more things. On the other hand, Riley IS the Little Brother, 3 years younger, but already itching to keep pace with his sibling. Riley has always requested permission to do exactly the same thing his Older Brother gets to do--whether it's eating a second piece of cake at a birthday party, playing a cool new video game, or exploring the neighborhood (careening behind Derek at breakneck speed on his scooter).

So I absolutely should have seen this coming--Riley asked the other day "Can I go to the park?" I just stared at him, shocked and horrified (like he'd asked if he could shoot squirrels in the backyard, or something). Finally I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind: "By yourself?" In response, he flashed me an innocent, crooked-toothed, hopeful grin and nodded vigorously. Internally, the following raging Mom-alogue ensued: "But...but...you're so little! There could be bad people there! (You know, like teenagers or something!) Or another kid could be mean to you, and I won't be around to help you cope! Or you could fall and scrape a knee, and I won't be able to kiss it! Wouldn't your brother like to go, too? He may be the skinniest bodyguard ever, but at least it's something! (And the grand crescendo) C'mon, Derek's 11, and stands nose-to-nose with me by now...but you're my BABY!" Riley just stood there, gazing up at me expectantly while waiting calmly for the verdict. So I took a few deep breaths, got a grip, and started sternly reviewing the Ground Rules:

--"Wear your helmet." (He automatically does this anyway, but since I was kind of freaking out, I thought I'd just start from the beginning. To his credit, he graciously accepted this without rolling his eyes or saying "Duh!")
--"Come to a full stop at the corner". (as if there were a Police Officer waiting to issue you a citation--hey, there's an idea for our Tax Dollars--Playground Cop! I'm writing to my County Council Member right away!)
--"Look both ways for cars". (Again, obvious...but I think he could sense a taste of independence within his grasp, so he patiently tolerated the Safety Lecture.)
--"Get along with others". To which he immediately replied, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll be nice to the (wait for it...) LITTLE KIDS!" (What does that mean? People shorter than you? How about you just go ahead and treat all of the taller ones well, also!)

Then of course there was the unspoken, heavily-implied final plea: "Come back soon!" As I watched him zooming down the street, racing toward his first Solo Adventure, I realized I was maybe getting an early preview of the High School Years...when the boys will be driving away (hold on a minute, I'm hyperventilating...okay, I'm firmly back in Happy Denial). They'll head out on a date, or to meet friends, and I'll keep a vigil, periodically glancing at the window for returning headlights, until they arrive safely back at the Home Port. Perhaps we ALL need to break this process into tiny increments to test the waters. (After all, what I view as the soft pillow of Parental Protection that I like to maintain around my children, they probably would call...smothering.) This time, Riley returned after 20 minutes or so, reported on his mini-field-trip, and blithely moved on to the next activity (within the secure confines of the back yard--whew!). I breathed a sigh of relief, and mentally patted us both on the back for our reasonable attitudes and mature behavior.  I feel like we successfully passed some kind of Family Pre-Test; I know the tougher questions are coming, but at least now I have some more time to study!

"The Most Important Meal of the Day?!"

Here we go again with the Breakfast Club...the boys get their eyes open enough to dig into their Apple Jacks, then plow ahead with the daily Topic to Flummox Mom. Today's Morning Meeting started out on the light side, with Derek inquiring as to whether I had saved the videos I took of  him square-dancing. "Of course I did," I assured him in my brightest, sugariest voice (you know the one--where the implied message is "with this embarrassing footage, I retain Parental Leverage that I'm never giving up...EVER!"). I let the veiled threat sink in for a moment; then in case he couldn't quite conjure up enough horrifying possibilities on his own, I added, "And I'm going to show it to your grandparents, and your cousins, and your first girlfriend, and your Prom date, and eventually, the girl you want to marry!" I'm not sure how effective this turned out to be in the end, though, as his response was an extended, tortured groan and an emphatic, "No, Mom...not the cousins!" (According to Derek, they're too young and impressionable to be exposed to the spectacle of 5th graders do-si-do-ing.)

I think as much to change the painful subject as for any other good reason, Derek then launched into a story about what he and some soccer pals discussed at practice the other night, during a "boring drill." (Sorry, Coach, I'm sure they were paying the utmost of attention and working their hardest to master the skills you were trying to teach them...nevermind, you were once an 11-year old boy, so you know what you're dealing with!) Apparently (I don't know how the subject came up...they probably don't, either) the Sporto Boys were talking about the 5 Senses. Derek announced that in addition to the usual Sight, Taste, Touch, Hearing, and Smell, he possesses a 6th, "Soccer Sense". Not to be outdone, his buddy declared that he had all of these, PLUS "Rock Band Sense". You see where this is going, right? Typical Male One-Upmanship...Derek came back with, "Oh yeah? Well I also have "Awesome Sense". (What does that even mean? I'll see if it appears in my Dictionary of Boy-Speak.) And, to bring the contest to a rousing close, another of his friends topped them all with, "I have..."Girl Sense!" (I can only assume that means something like "Attractiveness to the Opposite Sex" or "Understanding of Females" and not...an "Innate Flair for Decorating and Fashion". I swear, it's a wonder no one got hit in the head by a ball, or knocked over by a teammate during this silly, chatty "practice" session...)

Finally, Riley, who had been mostly a silent listener thus far, chimed in to contribute...the Doozy of the Day. He was babbling on about how he's going to love his Toad stuffed animal forever, even when he grows up, blah, blah, blah. Derek said something smart-alecky about how Riley was never going to have a wife and family if he continued to cling to his little stuffed friend. Riley seemed okay with this brotherly teasing, but then after a moment's quiet contemplation, he innocently asked, "Mom, why can't boys marry each other?" (Oh. Good. Grief. Seriously, there is not enough coffee in the UNIVERSE for me to have these Breakfast Bombshells dropped on me. I've really got to start sleeping in...until after they leave for school!) So, here we go...do I deflect the issue entirely? Offer a superficial answer? Or treat the spirit of the question by addressing it truthfully? Early though it was, I opted to dive in and give a real response, with enough facts and information to satisfy both of them.

Whew! Yet another conversational speed bump safely navigated. Now please, please go to school. Mom needs some more coffee...and maybe a nice mid-morning nap after that taxing Family Meal!

Caution: Bathing Suit Season Just Ahead!

Wow, May is just zippety-zipping along, which can only mean one thing: the "Official Start of Summer" is right around the corner. Let me confess, though, that I never got that "Memorial Day = Summer" thing. I know, I know, it's the first weekend when people start flocking to the beach, lined up on the Bay Bridge like lemmings...but I've got a little secret for you: here in Maryland, the ocean is still COLD. Our pool opens this Saturday as well, but you can bet my sensitive tootsies (and other parts) won't be entering that chilly water anytime soon. (Actually, for me it's more like July 4th before it's temperate enough for me to get in. Until then, my Swim Time involves lounging in a chaise, flipping through a magazine, chatting with other parents, and watching the kids turn blue.) Also, for us here in the mid-East-coast region, school is still very much in session. Yes, my boys will remain under lock and key until June 16th. So...Summer? Not quite feeling it yet.

There are a few hints, however, that the much-anticipated warm weather (that finally graced us with its presence) is going to re-energize our anemic Social Calendar. After an oh-so-long, frigid Winter, and a chilly, rainy Spring, it seems that everyone we know is now venturing out into the sunshine and catching up on what happened to each other in the past six months of semi-hibernation. (Why, just this past week at Soccer Games, we sideline-parents noted that for the first time, we were NOT layered in multiple fleeces to watch our sons play!) Suddenly the Picnic Invitations are pouring in (and with them, other sure signs of impending Summer: ladies rushing to get pre-sandal pedicures, and men refilling their grills' propane tanks). And not just for the family--Riley has a few birthday parties to attend himself, and Derek has all of the above, plus End-of-School Shindigs, and 5th-Grade Graduation activities on his own packed schedule.

Then there's the upswing in Sporting Events. Besides the soccer practices and games--Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights, and Saturday mornings--it's Baseball Season (yes, technically it's been baseball season since the beginning of April, but we tend to ignore the Boys of Summer until the temperature climbs above 50 degrees, and the sun is strong enough to eliminate the need for a turtleneck/sweater/jeans/gloves/boots ensemble while watching a contest. Frozen tushie on plastic seats? So not my favorite American Pastime!) Anyway, we can now enjoy calling balls and strikes from the stands, while noshing on ballpark hotdogs (or french fries, in my case) and sipping a tall, icy soda. Aahhh. And in other sports news, Derek asked yesterday, "Hey, Mom, can we play tennis?" What? My favorite game ever? You betcha, son! This time Riley wanted to join us, so they played Doubles against me...sort of. There was quite a bit of comical "that was yours!" as the ball whizzed between them, or near-catastrophes as each of them swung, narrowly missing whacking each other in the head. At this point Riley hasn't developed a smooth swing yet, so there's a lot of hacking at the ball, as if he's trying to cleave it in half (and he obstinately refuses to take suggestions or advice--stubborn much? Oh wait, he's my son. Sigh.) Derek on the other hand plays pretty well...until he gets frustrated that he's not returning every shot with Rafael Nadal-style speed and accuracy, and starts to spiral downward into a huffy fit of pique. You've heard the saying: "In tennis, Love means nothing?" Well, my version goes something like this: "In tennis, Love means refraining from smacking balls at my children on purpose." (Too long for a bumper sticker, but maybe a t-shirt?)

So, as we head toward the Long Weekend, let's put the rackets down, take a deep breath, and start cultivating our calm, light-hearted Summer Attitudes. Repeat after me: iced tea...watermelon...grilled (veggie) burgers...rematch with Team Derek and Riley...

The Merry Month of May?

I'm extremely fortunate in that both of my boys generally like school. Of course, they would vehemently deny this to their dying breath. And each of them, without pausing to reflect, can readily spout off a litany of things they absolutely despise, such as Music Class ("they make us sing...and the songs are stupid"), Standardized Testing ("it's so boring"), and even Lunchtime Rules (I'm not exactly sure what the complaint is here, but I imagine it's due to the fact that they're expected to sit and eat in a semi-civilized fashion...oh, the torture.)  Every year, however, we reach a certain point--by mid-to-late May....as in "right now"--at which they are just D-O-N-E. Tragically for them, almost 4 more weeks of school remain, which they must endure before they're sprung for Summer Vacation.

There are telltale signs that I've learned to recognize over the years, which alert me to the fact that my sons are speeding toward their annual May Meltdown. First it becomes harder to drag them inside for dinner and homework ("It can't be time to come in; it's still so bright out!" is the common refrain. To which I reply: "yes, but since you're not using the extra daylight to plant crops, get your butt in here anyway"). Then comes the daily struggle to roust them out of their blankets in the morning ("It's just so...early!") Finally, I watch for the final stage of their School Malaise: the dramatic trudging to the bus stop in the morning, the slumped shoulders under the suddenly-burdensome weight of their backpacks, and the heavy sighs they give when they see the approaching school bus. It's a dramatic tableau, I assure you. (Except for me--exuberantly waving them goodbye, with the full knowledge that I have the next 7 hours to get things done all by myself. Yippee!)

Lately, though, the boys have been making their dissatisfaction even clearer to me. For instance, Derek started a conversation one day with the offhanded remark, "Eh, I think I'm done with school." Oh, REALLY? That's interesting news, do go on! He continued, "I know reading, and writing, and basic math. That's all a soccer player* needs to know (*his current #1 Preferred Future Job). And an author*? For that you just write a bunch of fantasy, get paid millions of dollars, and retire...so who needs any more school?" (*his "Back Up Plan" for gainful employment) He was joking...I think...but I hastened to disabuse him of the notion that he would be finished with his education any time soon. (He took it well, and wandered agreeably off to play.) Then Riley, at the bus stop the other day, commented that "The problem with second grade ("oh, this ought to be good, I thought) is that by now you're kind of tired of your teacher, and you're ready for a different one." Oh. Good Grief. My jaded 7-1/2 year-old lasted only 8 months before coming down with an acute case of Scholastic Burn Out. A few days later, Husband was monitoring Riley as he completed his Reading assignment. While attempting to write "glossary", Riley spelled it "ery". Husband pointed out the error, to which Riley reportedly exhaled wearily, slumped over his paper, and sighed, "Huh, English!" (That's right, honey, you've stumbled upon a deep, dark Academic Secret: inconsistent spelling rules exist solely to throw you into a pit of Homework Despair. Sorry about that.)

So, I believe it's safe to say that everyone in our household awaits the end of the school year with bated breath...is it June yet?

Go West, Young 5th Graders!

Last Friday Derek and the rest of his 5th-grade class, divided into "families" of 4 students each, spent the day hiking to California, towing their Conestoga wagons. (Okay, they didn't really go all the way to the other coast, but by the end of their 6-mile trek, I believe they felt like they'd gone cross-country!) It was an event called Westward Ho, designed to teach them about how American pioneers in the 1800s moved from the populated Eastern part of the U.S. to the relatively unexplored Western Territories. The kids spent weeks outfitting their wagons (I donated our rugged Little Tikes vehicle, left over from dragging-kids-to-the-playground days...and the stories that Derek regaled us with--about 11-year old boys wielding hammers and nails--made me cringe and inspect for dire "construction injuries" each afternoon), "purchasing" supplies for the journey, meeting with their Wagon Family to strategize and divide up chores, and cooking some of the food they would need for their long, arduous trip...oh, and how could I forget...rehearsing their Square Dancing! (I listened to more complaints and grumbling about that--you would have thought they were forcing the poor children to eat bugs or something...although I got the distinct impression that at least in Derek's case, consuming insects would have been preferable to...touching girls!) They learned about some of the hardships they would face (unpredictable terrain, possible mechanical failures...parents with video cameras); practiced pulling, lifting, and braking their wagon as a team; and simulated some problem-solving exercises to get them used to thinking critically and creatively should unexpected challenges arise. The seemingly endless array of details fell into place one by one, including--at the last minute--throwing together an authentic Pioneer Outfit.

Finally the day arrived, and it was time to set out on this epic educational adventure. A snaky, stretchy line of girls in long skirts and bonnets, and boys in jeans, plaid shirts and wide-brimmed hats left the asphalt playground of the elementary school and began walking. Enthusiasm ran high, with much laughing and joking in the early, easy going. The first obstacle actually snuck up on us, as it came in the form of a completely innocuous-looking field of grass. Very TALL grass. The wagons--with their wheels built to tote toddlers down the sidewalk--proved difficult to wrangle through the "prairieland". I was proud of the boys in Derek's group as they paused, pondered, and proposed a plan to deal with the balky-wheel problem (in true Male Pioneering fashion, their grand solution was: kicking the wheels at regular intervals to keep them straight. I'm not kidding. And it did work!) A short time later, a true test of strength and stamina faced our explorers: the first of 5 streams they would need to cross in their quest for California. They had to carry their wagon down one steep, muddy bank, slosh through the water (hopefully without spilling cargo or dropping the actual wagon itself, of course), and slip and slide up the other side. Oh, and we parents? We were required to stand in the creek (up to our ankles in cold water, I might add! indignantly!) and prevent anyone from falling. Everyone made it safely, and it was a vastly entertaining operation...but from that point on, our feet remained cold and wet for the rest of the day (did I mention it was only 10 a.m.?)

After that, the settlers encountered fallen logs, large rocks, rutted portions of the path...all of which they had to work together to overcome (most of the time by lifting the wagon over, which became smoother and quicker with each incident). Derek's wagon family got along beautifully, toiling as a well-choreographed unit, but as the day dragged on, they joked a little less and drooped a little more, until finally they took on the aura of truly footsore, travel-weary pioneers in desperate need of a solid meal, a hot shower...and maybe a few hours on the couch in front of SportsCenter. (They did briefly perk up when we stopped for lunch. All of the students enjoyed sitting down for a while on the soft grass...and the boys relished being given permission by their teachers to go off into the woods and pee on the trees! Honest Outdoorsman Spirit, I tell ya...) That last half-hour before reaching our destination tested everyone's patience and endurance (Now that I think of it, I'm sure the original pioneer children coined the phrase "Are we there yet?"

At long last, we plodded up one final hill, across a small bridge, and back into civilization. The newest Western Settlers were never happier to see a parking lot in their entire lives, that much is certain. And since their teachers had requested that they bring in a spare pair of shoes and socks to school the day before, and had transported them to our ending point, our little campers revived at the prospect of warm, dry feet. Not to mention: FOOD. Each family prepared their Santa Fe Stew (with all the cooperation and can-do attitude required to...operate a can opener and dump ingredients into a pot), shook their cream to transform it into butter, and savored their first meal as brave, groundbreaking 19th-century Americans. To cap off the afternoon festivities, these intrepid boys and girls mustered every ounce of their courage and fortitude to show their parents (the thing they'd all been dreading) the Square Dancing. The boys' faces ranged from sullen to disgruntled to intense (as in "I will not trip, I will not knock anyone over, I will remember the steps). And, naturally, the girls smiled sweetly and appeared to be enjoying themselves. I can remember myself going through exactly the same thing when I was about Derek's age, so I do sympathize with the torture of being forced to do-si-do and promenade with the opposite sex...but as a parent, it was adorable. And the video I took of Derek dancing--and glaring at me--is priceless.

When it was all over, Derek and I made a beeline for our trusty steed, I mean Subaru, and headed home. We were damp, we were muddy, and we were exhausted...but it was an awesome day. (And after a Big Gulp, an indoor-bathroom break, and a steaming hot rinse, I was as good as new! Tomorrow, let's walk back to the East Coast!)

Free to be you and me!

Well, friends, it's May again. And do you know what that means? The glorious weeks that I yearn for all year, and anticipate with great excitement and impatience, have at long last arrived. That's right: my Spring Semester has drawn to a close, but the little Indentured Students--I mean my children--will remain safely enclosed in the Halls of Learning for another blessed month. So, for this lovely, happy time, I'm free, I'm free! (Except for errands, and chores, and volunteering, and House Projects...but other than that, I am totally unfettered, baby! I am the Master of my Destiny, the Captain of my Ship...and clearly, I am positively giddy at the prospect of so many unscheduled hours. I'd better rein it in a bit, lest I burn out too early.)

The very first Tuesday I didn't have to report to work felt downright momentous. What to do with my Spare Day? Why, venture out on an Educational Excursion, of course! (And yes, this is what I choose to do for "fun". If I were to star in a reality show, it would be called Nerds on the Town.) This time, I chose to visit Gunston Hall Plantation, former home of nearly-forgotten Revolutionary-War-Era patriot George Mason. (He does have a university named for him, but in distinct contrast to his famous colleagues--Thomas Jefferson and George Washington (yeah, that OTHER George)--nowadays no one seems too clear on what exactly he contributed to the Colonial Rebellion. But fear not, I'm here to tell you!) Gunston Hall lies near Lorton, Virginia and overlooks the Potomac River (apparently influential, wealthy 1700s landowners named George--Washington, Mason, whatever--were very keen on building their mansions with a view of the water.) The Colonial Dames (I am not making that up) oversee the property, and have invested what appears to be enormous amounts of time and money recreating the place in painstaking, authentic detail according to what it looked like in Mason's time. There is even archeological digging going on daily, with scientist sifting the soil for artifacts or other clues to the past.

Upon arriving, the cheerful Front Desk Attendant directs you to a 10-minute movie that provides a summary of George Mason's life, both private and political. I swear as I sat down and made myself comfortable to absorb the details of the documentary, I found myself wishing I had a pen and paper...to take notes. (What? That deceptively friendly Historical Society lady who greeted us could have sprung a Pop Quiz, you never know!) It turns out, Mason was a very important man...whom history has practically ignored. For example, he is credited with penning the Virginia State Constitution. In it, he coined several iconic phrases that his buddy TJ admired and borrowed to re-use in...the Declaration of Independence. One of these might sound familiar--ever heard of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"? Yep, that was good old GM. He was evidently a staunch believer in the Rights of Mankind, and felt that they should be enumerated and protected in a concrete, legal way.

After his service to the Virginia government, he was invited to represent his state at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. He gave an address to the distinguished delegates, and helped draft the U.S. Constitution...but refused to sign it in the end. According to our trusty Tour Guide at Gunston Hall, Mason thought that the document gave too much power to the Federal Government, thereby ignoring the individual citizens' freedoms. (He supposedly had 19 objections altogether!) Because of his persuasive argument, James Madison later campaigned for the addition of a Bill of Rights to the Constitution. (So when you exercise your right to speak out against your leaders, or assemble for a meeting, or practice your religion, or brandish your personal firearm....and subsequently appear for your "speedy trial"...be sure to thank George Mason!) He seemed to have alienated GW with his protests, but Thomas Jefferson remained a lifelong friend and admirer, and continued to pay visits to Mason after he returned home to his plantation, until his quiet death in 1792.

As I meandered about the grounds on a pleasant Spring day, snapping photos, filing away mental reminders of what I wanted to include in my "report" when I got home, and absorbing the 18th-century atmosphere, I realized that communing with George Mason, the unrecognized Father of the Bill of Rights, was, in fact, the perfect way to spend my first day of summer freedom! I feel patriotic AND smarter!