Jumping into the middle of it...

Ah, Summer...the season of sleeping late, lazing by the pool, spending countless unscheduled playtime hours pursuing pleasure in whatever way you choose, right? Well, yes...and no. The life of almost-8 year old Riley does in fact follow the Summer Ideal almost to the letter (except for those pesky assigned Math and Reading Packets...but we can work on those outside, underneath a shady tree somewhere, so it still counts as relaxation). For Derek, however, after two blissful weeks of an easygoing, slow-paced existence, the Academic World suddenly returned with a vengeance, intruding on his vacation like a shock of Summer lightning. First, there was the horror and indignity of parentally-imposed Tutoring Sessions. Now, before everyone gets all up-in-arms about what kind of mother subjects their kids to (shudder) MATH during the school break, let me just...foist the blame off on a fellow Mom. You see, a friend of mine, whose son happens to be one of Derek's best friends, wanted to preview the Advanced Math Curriculum prior to just throwing her son into it blindly in the Fall when school starts again. So, she arranged a few tutoring dates for S, and inquired as to whether we would like Derek to join the fun. Of course we would! Why didn't I ever think of that? Besides, we're talking a total of 5 meetings altogether, after which the boys get fed a snack and taken swimming...so don't cry too much for poor old Derek.

But then, we encountered our first evidence that this whole Middle School thing is serious business. All of the incoming 6th-graders were placed into an optional Orientation (in addition to the Official one in August!) to become acquainted with the school and some of its procedures. Derek's slot came up this week, so for two days he had to revert to being woken up. (Not as early as he will be rising in the Fall, but earlier than he has been since mid-June...also, the pain of this is heightened by the fact that Husband shakes him vigorously while commanding in an obnoxiously chipper tone, "Wakey, wakey!" I fear we'll know we have a full-blown adolescent on our hands when Derek hauls off and slugs him one day.) Then he attended school for 3 hours (!) on 2 consecutive days (!!). Now, Derek is an extremely laid-back kind of boy, but I wondered if he might be feeling some stress about his crash course in Introductory Middle School. My concern proved valid, as he shared with me at breakfast before being dropped off for his first day: "I had a dream that I went to school, but I forgot to wear a shirt so we had to go back home and get one." (Oh, how cute, he experienced the universal "naked at school" dream--Freudian Analysts, have at it! But remember: at least he wore PANTS!)  Then when we pulled up and saw a group of kids sitting outside the school, he remarked, "I don't see anyone I know" (slightly morose, but calm)...quickly followed by "Everyone has a backpack!" (and he hadn't brought one--slightly worried). Super! He'd been a 6th-grader for approximately 5 minutes and already he was voicing several common pre-teen areas of angst: "I only want to hang out with people who are already my friends" and "I don't want to be different in any way." As it turned out, the backpack-toting loiterers were waiting to catch a bus to camp. Plus, not 30-seconds after I bid him goodbye and headed back to the car, I passed one of his Elementary school buddies walking into the building. (Takeaway Life Lesson: Everything will work out fine, and what's bothering you so much at this exact moment will be either completely insignificant or forgotten in 10 minutes. Welcome to Adolescence.)

I watched him tentatively wander off down the hallway of his new Scholastic Home for the next three years, looking for all the world like a little fish unceremoniously tossed into an unfamiliar, too-big pond. Of course, when I returned 3 hours later to retrieve him, he was brimming once more with confidence and enthusiasm (and maybe just a bit of relief). He reported all of the fun things they got to do, such as learning to open a combination lock, taking a Scavenger Hunt to find things throughout the building (high on Derek's list: the gym...and the cafeteria), and creating a Time Capsule. This last one was particularly intriguing to me; they were supposed to fill a manila envelope with drawings, handwritten notes, and small items that explain who they are, in the Summer before 6th Grade. These will be tucked safely away in a secret location somewhere in the school until 8th Grade Graduation, when the students can open them and examine their past-selves. Derek's choices revealed (no surprise here) a boy who loves soccer, music, and video games. I don't really expect these things to change over the next several years. But Middle School is a period of intense growth--physical and emotional--so I can't help but wonder how drastically different my bespectacled, brace-faced, not-quite-as-tall-as-me son will be when Middle School is behind him, and High School awaits. Okay, YIKES, back up just a bit! For now, we're just about prepared to deal with 7 teachers and PE every day and maybe, just maybe, Journalism Club (in which he has expressed an interest already). Wheee, ready or not, Middle School here we come!

We won the Battle of I-270!

To quote the poet Robert Browning: "The best laid schemes of Mice and Men, oft go awry." (And just to head off the cries of "What a big geek!" accompanied by the tossing of over-ripe fruits and vegetables, I will confess right here that I had to look up the author. There, satisfied? But don't ask me why he imagined mice making plans...thank goodness I left poetry analysis behind in High School!) In this case, the agenda in question involved a Family Field Trip to Gettysburg, to visit the Civil War Battlefield. It seemed like a timely patriotic idea, given that we are in the middle of July 4th weekend, and that it is the 150th anniversary of the beginnings of the War Between the States. Besides, Husband and I have toured Gettysburg, (over a decade ago, in the winter, when there was about a foot of snow on the ground) but the sons hadn't been yet. And there were supposed to be all sorts of demonstrations (including a battle re-enactment) going on over the holiday weekend. So, we packed up a cooler with lots of water and snacks, and hit the road.


Spirits were high as we headed west toward Frederick...right up until traffic came to a screeching halt on the highway. And started up again. And stopped. And crawled. Etc. Perhaps other people--many, many other people--had the same clever idea for a blazingly sunny, hot summer Saturday. Awesome. Now, I really wanted to return to Gettysburg...but I really, REALLY have a zero-tolerance personal policy regarding traffic...nonsense. So to avoid a meltdown (mine) we quickly concocted and implemented Plan B: get the heck out of the Evil Traffic Jam and visit an Alternative Civil War Site. I happened to know that a few miles off the Interstate from where we were stuck lies the Monocacy National Battlefield. An impromptu exit (so long, suckers!) succeeded in taking us quickly away from the mayhem and towards a bubbling river (of the same name), serene green fields, and the requisite cannons that are the key to making any historical journey complete for us.


A friendly and knowledgeable Ranger at the Visitor's Center provided brochures and guidance. (Derek even lobbied to buy a book summarizing all of the major skirmishes that occurred in Maryland...yes, he's definitely my little Nerdling...) We puttered about, enjoying the interactive educational displays--like push-button maps that light up specific areas of combat, and explain what happened there; and replica wool uniforms to try on, and 20-pound packs to lift, so one could briefly experience what a soldier would have been forced to endure. What we learned: the battle took place on July 9th, 1864, during the "third and final Confederate invasion of the North." The Rebel General, Jubal Early, was marching through Maryland, with the ultimate goal of capturing the nation's capital. The engagement at Monocacy delayed and weakened his forces, allowing time for Union reinforcements to arrive by steamship and fortify Washington D.C.'s defenses. There was a clash in the city, but the Northern forces held their ground under the watchful eye of President Lincoln.


Having absorbed our lesson for the day, we trotted out to hike in the shady forest along the quiet Monocacy River (much smaller and calmer than its rambunctious cousin, the Potomac). We observed the minnows, we listened to the songbirds...we even spotted the 5-foot long black snake that the Park Service calls its "mascot"! (They named him for one of the generals, but darned if I can remember which one...that definitely merits a deduction on my Quiz Score for today!) To sum up, we survived traffic travails, studied an underappreciated-but-cool Civil War location, and  even managed a walk in the woods. Altogether a satisfying and successful on-the-fly Plan B!

It was nice while it lasted...

Every year, Husband makes a pilgrimage to South Carolina with Derek and Riley in tow, to visit his parents (also known as the boys' Paternal Grandparents). It has become an Annual Male Bonding Trip, a special time for the Westman Men to enjoy each others' company while frolicking at the beach and being spoiled rotten by my In-Laws. My supporting role in the entire affair is very limited (Husband even arranges the travel plans...and packs! Heavenly!) and ends when I lovingly hug and kiss them all, wave them goodbye at the curb, and promise to miss them at least a little bit while they're away. You see, unlike Husband--who when given a choice, prefers to be with people most of the time--I have recurring desire for peace and quiet, to be left alone for a while (I think of it as a metaphor: Husband wants to belong to a Pack; I'm more of a Lone Wolf...) It's not that I don't like people; I can be quite social. But my Interactive Batteries definitely wear down, and require recharging. Friends always ask me, "What are you going to do with yourself while your family is gone?" They seem to be on the verge of expressing sympathy, as though they regard my time alone as punishment. (rather than the precious gift it actually is!) This year, the guys decided to make it a 6-day Southern Stay, so my answer to the usual query required a little more thought and decision-making. After all, how DOES one fill the plethora of free time, in the absence of a daily agenda of laundering, and meal-preparing, and tidying, and errand-running, and appointment-keeping?

Well, here's what I "got away with" while no one was around to monitor my behavior: I ate popcorn for dinner one night, without worrying about setting a good example for growing boys. I watched TV (in the middle of the day, very decadent) that was decidedly NOT appropriate for young eyes and ears. I treated myself to dessert, even if I hadn't even so much as touched a vegetable with my meal. I stayed up too late reading, and slept-in the next day. As if those little rebellious acts weren't altogether more fun than one person should be allowed to have, (I'm fairly easy to please, can you tell?) I also took a long, leisurely bike ride; attended a birthday Happy Hour for my sister (conversation with adults! and fruity beverages! I also don't get out much, obviously); checked off another Historical Must-See (Monticello); and viewed a movie entirely of my own choosing (oddly enough, rather than seizing this Golden Opportunity to watch a Chick Flick without any Spousal Whining...I went with: The A-Team. Yep, just me and Bradley Cooper...and lots of stuff blowing up!)

Okay, I admit I did have to attend to a few regular chores, (laundry--yes, I wore clothes even when no one was around to see me...grocery store--a girl's gotta eat, as I think I've made abundantly clear...washing a few dishes...) and suddenly, seemingly in the blink of an eye, my Solo Stint was over and it was time for the Male Posse to return to the fold. Like any good homecoming, it was joyful and exciting. Everyone was happy to see each other, there were stories to tell and pictures to show, and most importantly, having accomplished the necessary howling while on my own, Mom Wolf was re-energized and ready to rejoin the Pack once more. Somehow I'll have to make sure it's not another whole year before I manage to work in a junk-food dinner, adult beverage...and (cinematic) date with Bradley Cooper again!

Oh I wish I was in Dixie (oh wait, I AM!)

Have you heard the old saying, "While the boys are away, the Lady of the House will play?" (No? Well, I might have coined it myself...just now.) What it means in this case is: I so thoroughly enjoyed myself last year on my Night Away From Home that I decided to make it an annual tradition. So what did I come up with for my 2nd Annual Solo Overnight? Well, since I seem to be well on my way to a Historical Trend here anyway, I decided to visit my third Dead Patriot's house for this calendar year. (Yeah, I do love me some...men in wigs...) This time I was calling on Thomas Jefferson's colonial masterpiece, Monticello, which presides over a sprawling plantation in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains near Charlottesville, Virginia. Logistically, this translated into a 2-1/2 hour drive south for me--deep into Confederate Country. In order to cultivate the proper frame of mind before venturing into Dixie, I drank some sweet tea (okay, it was from Starbucks, but it counts, right?), ate some grits (well, I would have, but I don't think they even sell them North of the Mason Dixon Line...and if they do, I have NO IDEA how to prepare them anyway), practiced my "hey, y'all" (my mother's family is from Kentucky, so this one comes naturally), and donned a hoop skirt (sorry, now I'm just making stuff up).

Anyway, after a pleasantly scenic drive through lush green countryside, I arrived in Middle-of-Nowhere, Virginia, home of our much-revered third President. And I must say, each time I've explored these National Historical Monuments, I've come away with an appreciation for the wealth and architecture of the structures themselves, but an absolute AWE for the brilliant men who resided there. Jefferson is no exception. We are all familiar with one of his most famous achievements--that modest little document known as the Declaration of Independence. (You know the one...that introduced the radical, heretofore unimagined concept of "rights for all men" and an "elected government"...oh, and that famous trio "Life, Liberty, and the Purfuit of Happinefs"...I swear the Founding Fathers were geniuses, but they seriously needed to break free of Mother England's ridiculous spelling rules.) However, I didn't realize TJ was only 33 years old when he penned it. Among his other skills: he was an accomplished violinist, a self-taught architect, and a voracious reader who could decode books in 7 different languages. He also presented a bit of a conundrum, as he spoke against slavery, calling it an "abominable crime", yet owned slaves himself to help run his enormous estate. According to our Tour Guide, Jefferson wrote abolitionist language into the original Declaration of Independence, but had to remove it when too many states refused to sign it as presented.

Having absorbed a headful of information about the Man behind the Myth, and having strolled through his charming flower and vegetable gardens, I prepared to take my leave of the altogether impressive Monticello. But wait! There's more! No one bothered to mention this during my hours at the Jefferson's homestead...but his close friend, the 5th Leader of the young United States, lived only 2 miles away. Yes, James Monroe, hereafter to be referred to as the Bonus Deceased President! (That would be Number 4, for all of you keeping score...or is that just me?) Confession: I was tired of walking and weary of listening to History Class by this time of the late-afternoon, so I didn't give Mr. Monroe the same attention I'd lavished on Tom. Here's what I picked up before my brain completely shut down for the day: JM held more offices than any other statesman before or since (Senator, Ambassador, Governor, Secretary of State, Secretary of War, and President); he orchestrated the Louisiana Purchase for then-President Jefferson by negotiating with Napoleon Bonaparte; (and scored that huge parcel of land for roughly 3-1/2 cents an acre!) and during his own time in office, he sent Lewis and Clark on their legendary expedition to explore the new American West. At this point, our loquacious Tour Guide seemed like she could go on all day, so when her back was turned, I slipped out and made a break for my car--shhh! it's our little secret!

So once again I was able to explore a new-to-me Famous Place and indulge my Dorky History Habit, all while partaking of abundant fresh air and exercise...oh, and I filed away facts and stories to bore--I mean thrill and entertain--my family when they return from South Carolina. I guess all I need now to complete my Southern Adventure...is a big bowl of grits for breakfast!

A Pedal in the Park

When I used to live in Bethesda (or, referring to it in the local vernacular, as we Marylanders like to do: The High Rent District...which also explains why I don't live there anymore...but I digress) I would routinely hop on my bike and ride a gorgeous, paved, shady bike route all the way to Georgetown. It's a converted Rail Trail, which means it's smooth and fairly level, with no steep grades that would have hindered a freight train back in the day. The topography of this particular area is such that it happens to slope ever so gently downhill from the Maryland side toward the Potomac River...and then uphill on the way back (more on that later). Although my bike still gets plenty of use each Summer, I hadn't ridden this particular path since Husband and I moved to Olney...in 1999. So with the boys on their annual South Carolina Sojourn, I decided to revisit my old stomping (um, pedaling) grounds.

I carefully prepped myself for my woodsy outing--packing sunscreen, bug-repellent bracelet, Clif bar, and several bottles of water. Then I ate a healthy, fortifying breakfast of yogurt, walnuts, and a banana...for my half-hour drive to Bethesda (but I had tons of energy for that grueling commute, I tell ya!) When I arrived at the parking lot where the trail begins, I took a deep breath, pointed my wheels South, and rolled onto the peaceful, tree-lined path. The patchy sunlight warmed me, the delicate breeze tickled my skin...the water I so diligently drank to pre-hydrate myself before my workout made me feel an urgent need to pee already (more on that later, as well...I know you're holding your breath for this one). Along the 6 miles down to D.C., I passed casual strollers, families with strollers, power-walkers, one senior-citizen using a walker (I gave a silent "You go, Granny" cheer for her as I rode by). I saw plenty of well-behaved dogs, a number of wild-strawberry-pickers (to clarify: the fruit was wild, the people appeared quite tame), and a few determined runners. Then there were the Serious Bikers in their official form-fitting jerseys and padded shorts, Power Bars tucked into their pockets, hunched over their handlebars and speeding by as if they were late for a Lunch Meeting with Lance Armstrong himself. (I gave them a wide berth--they scare me!)

Much faster than I expected, I crossed over into the District and spied the Washington Monument, presiding elegantly over the Potomac River and the Georgetown skyline. I was pleased with myself, I was invigorated, I was barely breathing hard or sweating very much...I still had to turn around and haul myself 6 miles back in the other direction. I mentioned already that the return trip is ever-so-slightly uphill, right? There are no discernible elevation changes, but your calves...and hamstrings...and glutes will keep you informed in no uncertain terms that the real pedaling work is coming. Also, did I happen to note that I had to pee? Since Bethesda? Memo to the Park Service--LOVE what you've done with the trail; it's stunning, really, clean and well-maintained...now if it wouldn't trouble you too much, we exercisers of the Female Persuasion would just adore having a Porta-Potty anywhere along the length of the path. Thanks. (And yes, I did what had to be done in such an emergency: peed in the woods. Quite competently, I might add. My children would be so proud. Or horrified, not sure which.) Having taken care of...business, I encouraged my tired legs to get a move on, and doggedly plowed back toward Maryland. Those last few miles were...taxing, but it did feel awesome to finish! Especially when I wheeled my bike back to the car and saw that I had almost an hour-and-a-half left on my meter--can you say LUNCH?

All-in-all, it was a completely satisfying day...but check with me tomorrow to see if I can still walk!

Bedtime Stories...

When Derek was in 3rd grade and had just turned 8, we allowed him to have a friend stay overnight for the first time. Honestly, I don't remember too much about that initial Sleepover, except that the boys giggled and wrestled so late into the night that I wondered why they don't just call them "Stay-up-as-long-as-you-can-overs." (Too wordy, perhaps? But so much more accurate!) At this point, a few years later, Derek is a seasoned Sleepover veteran, having both attended and hosted dozens of them. Now Riley, always watching his older brother and consequently suffering a severe case of Monkey See, Monkey-Want-To-Do, recently requested his own Sleepover Playdate. And, although he just finished 2nd grade, we decided without much debate to let him go ahead and invite someone over. (I attribute this lenience to what I call Second Child Syndrome, which can be summed up as follows: "Eh, it didn't kill us the first time, so why not?!") Happily for all concerned, he chose a pre-approved classmate/soccer teammate that we have known for a while and already like!

On the appointed day, Riley's buddy Jay arrived with a bulging backpack, a gigantic grin, and a heaping helping of enthusiasm. The boys wasted no time, but plowed right into the day's activities--shooting soccer goals in the backyard, swimming at the neighborhood pool, and yes, giggling and wrestling. When they had run around sufficiently to expend their daily surplus of energy, I set all 3 of them up in front of the TV with pizza and Pirates of the Caribbean. For a while, Captain Jack Sparrow had them whooping it up with his onscreen antics. But suddenly, during a lull in the action, I happened to glance over and see Jay, fast asleep with one arm tucked inside his t-shirt. (To be fair, it was the outrageous hour of...9:15!) Riley seemed stunned...his designated Late Night Partner in Crime turned out to be more of the Early-to-Bed, Early-to-Rise kind of guy. Neither the nautical battles nor the hollering ruffians in the movie disturbed Jay's peaceful slumber, and when the flick ended, Husband carried him to bed and deposited him gently onto his air mattress. (His mother had called at approximately 9:16 and asked to say goodnight to her son...but we had to inform her that sadly, Riley appeared to have broken him. She laughingly assured us that this was typical behavior for Jay--whew! We didn't wreck him after all!)

In contrast, let's review the events of the last time Derek had a friend over. The shenanigans commenced with a heated, strategical Nerf battle that spanned the entire house, and had to be shut down for safety reasons (let's just say a Cease Fire Treaty was enforced by the Prime Mom-ister...ha!) Then a spirited Wii session of Lego Rock Band began, highlighted by a truly horrendous, off-key rendition of The Final Countdown. (by Derek's friend Brian--whose falsetto could melt your eardrums, and who screeches, I believe, just to irritate me as much as humanly possible!) Next we were treated to thumping and bumping from Derek's room that brought to mind, oh, I don't know, maybe elephants tap dancing? It turned out to be an impromptu basketball game...after they were supposed to be settling down for bed. At this juncture, I found it necessary to resort to the most dire threat I could levy on 11-year olds: "If you don't go to sleep, there will be no video games tomorrow!" Yep, that's the last I heard of them until breakfast the next day...

But at least that was better than what I hear happened at Derek's most recent Sleepover, which fortunately did NOT happen here. When the Prodigal Son dragged his exhausted self back through the door the next morning, yawning and struggling to put one foot in front of the other, we demanded the gritty details. And--bless his heart--our full-disclosure-guy immediately came clean (or was it "boasted"?) about his evening's entertainment. Let's see, after the planned and supervised portion of the festivities (a Birthday Outing to a forest-adventure-ziplining venue, followed by an End-of-the-School-Year picnic), our intrepid young men helped themselves to leftover steak and mashed potatoes at 10:30 p.m. (after the parents had gone to bed--who can blame them?) Then, according to our reporter, they were "bored" at midnight...so they made ice cream sundaes...and watched funny videos on YouTube!

I think the lesson here is exceedingly clear: Jay can come over anytime he wants...and Derek is never leaving the house after dark again!

Summer Begins...

This past Friday we enjoyed the first of 73 Summer Break days. While it's true that everyone woke up and yawned their way downstairs for breakfast at the normal time--darn those internal alarm clocks--it felt sooo carefree and unhurried to be able to linger over our coffee and cereal, without the usual frantic scramble to assemble school gear, stuff backpacks, and rush to the bus stop. The school hiatus stretches out before us, tantalizingly filled with anticipation and possibilities and half-formed plans. Every morning beckons with the question: "What should we do today?" After all, there are afternoons to splash in the pool, and classmates to run around in the yard with, and novels to read outside under a shady tree, and cool places to visit on Family Field Trips. And of course let’s not forget Brother Bonding to do. Right now, June finds us starry-eyed as we contemplate the dizzying, exciting array of choices…at least until the warm-and-fuzzy Hallmark commercial ends and reality comes dripping down around us like a sticky ice-cream cone.  

At that point, we get something more along the lines of the following refrain: “it’s too hot and humid”; “I can’t stand the bugs”; “I’m boooored”; “everyone’s away on vacation”; “I finished all my books”; “he’s bothering me”. And since this is my duo of bottomless-pit boys we’re discussing, let’s not forget that they require sustenance every, oh, two hours or so to prevent the Low-Blood-Sugar-Snarls. We might have an additional…concern…if an incident yesterday is any indication. Derek and Riley were both in the family room, intently focused on their respective video game pursuits. I called down, “It’s pushing 2:00, who wants lunch?” Derek paused his virtual soccer match to give this inquiry some thoughtful consideration, then countered, “Can I put in an order?” (accompanied by an expectant, hopeful grin—as if being as cute as possible would make me more inclined to agree!) I greeted this outrageous question with the reaction it deserved: hand on hip, incredulous Mom Face, and an oozingly sarcastic, “This is not a restaurant, unless you pay in cash and plan to tip extremely well!” Not deterred in the slightest, Derek replied, “It’s worth a HUG!” As he ran up to deliver the payoff as promised, he added, “I’d like a turkey sandwich, with cheese, the cheese slightly melted, and the bread lightly toasted.” (Oh, you have got to be joking. I’d like a spa getaway in Southern California, but THAT’S not likely to happen either, is it?)

So I think it’s safe to say that the idealistic notion of Easy-Living-Summertime—at least for me—has succumbed to the actual day-to-day routine of the WestEnders Bed and Breakfast. At least until I achieve my NEW goals: teaching the boys how to cook…and clean…and do laundry…then maybe I’ll get my Mommy Spa Day after all!

So long, farewell...

We interrupt our Blogpost to bring you this Special Announcement...the school year...is...O-V-E-R! (and the crowd goes wild, thank you for playing along). Now, in any given June, this very important day arrives just in the nick of time...to save our sanity. The weather is warmer, the pool beckons, the brains are chock-full of...learning and whatnot...in short, the Natives are Restless (and I do mean that literally--for the past week or so, the boys have been pacing like caged wild animals, impatiently waiting to be sprung loose out into the unsuspecting world). The end of this particular academic year brought with it some additional hoopla (beyond the customary "Hallelujah, We're Free" Song and Happy Dance that usually occur). Derek just wrapped up 5th-grade, meaning that he's officially completed Elementary School, and will be moving on to Middle School in the Fall.

While I realize this event doesn't hold the same significance as, say, High School Graduation (obviously Derek won't be experiencing the whole "becoming an Adult and going off to College" thing at age 11), it stirred up a surprising amount of nostalgia and a touch of sadness as well. The emotions started emerging a little bit when I realized that we've lived in our house since Derek was (again, literally) a mere zygote--we found out I was pregnant two weeks after moving in. (which explains why I was so exhausted lugging all those boxes--alas, too late for me to utilize the "delicate condition" excuse!) He has attended the same Elementary School from Kindergarten through 5th grade, six...long...years. There's never another time in his life when that will happen. He's been climbing onto the same bus, filing in a (mostly) orderly line down the same hallways, eating in the same cafeteria, playing at recess with many of the same friends--and all that's about to change radically.

But first, we marked the Rite of Passage with a 5th-grade Memories Ceremony. Derek groused for DAYS about the "dress code" for this shindig. Imagine, the teachers decreed that the boys had to wear khakis and collared shirts! The nerve of them! (They told the girls what to wear as well, but I'm sure that was completely unnecessary; it was for the young men they felt the need to spell out proper attire...as in not t-shirts, shorts, or jeans!) Then he spent some quality time alternately complaining about and mocking the song they were being forced to perform (something about "soaring like an eagle, up to the stars" or similar sentimental silliness). However, he perked up considerably when a classmate created "alternative lyrics" that the boys muttered under their breath to amuse themselves during rehearsals..."like an eagle I will poop on your car". (Yep, they're totally ready for the next step up in maturity. Oh, and I threatened dire consequences if he sang that during the actual solemn, dignified occasion).

On the day of the assembly, I took my seat with the other moms and dads. Some had tissues and looked weepy already. (Not me! I was holding it together!) Some appeared relieved that their offspring had successfully finished 5th-grade. ALL had film or video cameras at the ready to capture the pomp and circumstance. When the students filed in and took their places, I saw Derek (average-height, therefore tucked into the middle of the pack of 100-or-so kids) craning his neck to locate me. So I did what any mother would do in this situation: I waved vigorously. And my typical-pre-adolescent-boy grinned happily, then apparently remembered he was supposed to be "cool" and ducked his head in embarrassment. (Hey, I refrained form jumping up and down, windmilling my arms and yelling, HI, SWEETIE! What more can he ask?) The rest of the show was typical commencement stuff--awards, "certificates of achievement" for all the students, remarks by the Principal to send them on their way. All of which led us closer to the real celebration immediately afterwards: Cookies in the Courtyard! (One somewhat startling revelation: in the Program, they were officially identified for the first time as The Class of 2018. YIKES! That makes it seem much more...imminent and scary, yes? Okay, for me, anyway.)

So, off we went to socialize and bid farewell to the 5th-grade staff (at least for the first time, I will be doing this again in three years with Riley). It was a normal gathering: the parents mingled, the girls stood in packs laughing and chatting...and the boys climbed the trees, shoved each other down the hill, chased one another around, and held contests to see who could cram the most brownies in their mouths at once. (Such proud moments for those of us who produced the little monsters...) Finally, the excitement wound down, and we were ready to take our leave. For Derek, the first six years of his education are behind him, and he's setting out for new frontiers. For Riley and me, it's See You in September! Now let the Summer games begin!

The Life of Riley

And now, in the interest of fair play (because you know I absolutely LIVE to torture--I mean immortalize in print--each of my beloved sons equally) it's time for Tales of Riley. We'll start with a conversation, since after all, the boy does love to talk (and talk...and talk. Like his mother, who probably picked it up from her own mother, he keeps up a running commentary even when no one else is listening. My mom always used to say that it was fine to chat with yourself; it was when you started answering that you had a problem. I myself prefer to label it "thinking out loud"--makes it sound much healthier!) Now, where was I? Oh yes, Riley and I were at the kitchen counter, discussing the potential dinner menu at Chez WestEnders (That gives the proceedings such an elevated tone, as if I were actually going to cook something fancy...hahahaha!). I mentioned the ever-popular Easy Mac as a side-dish choice, and he predictably replied, "I like mac-and-cheese!" "Well, who doesn't?" I flippantly remarked. Of course you recognize this as a standard Rhetorical Question, but Riley never met an inquiry he didn't consider worthy of his full attention and response. Without missing a beat, he said decisively, "Vegans!" Um...yes...you're utterly, technically right, sweetie. He then thoughtfully asked, "What's a vegan, anyway?" I dutifully launched into an explanation of those who opt not to consume foods derived from animals in any form, such as milk and butter (his face started to reflect disbelief), eggs (his surprise grew), or cheese (full-blown astonishment). He regarded me with an open mouth for a moment, then sputtered, "That's just LAME!" I choked back a laugh, then did the requisite little speech on "respecting other peoples' choices, recognizing the environmental impact of our diet, not calling those who eat differently from us by rude names, blah, blah, blah". And I poured a glass of milk, boiled a hotdog, and nuked the Easy Mac for my youngest omnivore.

Our next topic is somewhat more...delicate. With the warmer weather having (finally, hallelujah!) arrived, and with both boys being outdoorsy-run-around-sporty types, we have entered what I like to call "Daily Shower Season" (with the subtitle: "Make Sure You Use Soap AND Shampoo!). You may recall that Derek has had his own deodorant stick for a while (Tom's of Maine, unscented, for the record. This will become relevant shortly, you'll see). I don't feel it necessary to do a sniff test to check if he's using it, because so far he just doesn't seem to smell too much (thank goodness!). You can guess where this is going, yes? After the Saturday morning soccer games last weekend, both boys showered, as we had a party to attend later in the afternoon. In between engagements, Riley seized a few minutes of his free time to go outside and test his new, high-bouncing "Sky Ball" toy he'd gotten at one of the myriad birthday parties he's been to this month. I swear he was only out there for 10 minutes, but it was during that bout of miserably hot, humid, disgusting weather we had recently. When he came inside, he stood next to me to look at the newspaper section I was reading...and a certain...aroma...wafted up to assault my sensitive nose. I would describe it as a cross between a gym sneaker and a damp dog. Awesome! My not-quite-8-year-old has a personal odor problem! I marched him upstairs, directed him to change his shirt, and powdered his pits (which he protested vigorously, but I managed to convince him that smelling like a clean baby's butt was very appealing to others. I did not specify WHAT others). When I informed him that we would be getting him his very own deodorant, he was excited and ecstatic. He immediately insisted, "I want the lavender kind!" (Um, no, really, you don't want to go to school smelling like a flower!) Undeterred, he amended, "Okay, but I at least want something scented!" I assured him we'd find him something...manly...which he found completely hilarious. (I don't even know what that means, either...smells like Power Tools? Grilled steak? What?) The next day we stood in Roots Market, deliberating in the deodorant aisle. Of course we had to open each cryptically-named selection, give it a snort, then discuss our impressions--the employees must have LOVED us. (But after all, nobody really can predict what "Fresh Rain" means until they try it out, right? It could smell like mud puddles and worms, for all we know!) At last we tested Mountain Spring, which in my opinion was "light but pleasant", and was acceptable to Riley as well. He proudly took his purchase home and smeared some right away on his little pits (after a short tutorial as to the boundaries of application--all the way down to the elbows and ribs? Not necessary.)

And off we went to our next social engagement, all de-stinkified and ready to face the world! I hope that's the last personal product we have to deal with for a while...I'm SOOO not ready for shaving cream...

The World of High Finance for Short People

To introduce this week's tidbits, let us begin with the practical...specifically money. When we started giving the boys an allowance a few years ago, I tried a few different "cash delivery models." There was the trial Once-a-Week-Payout--which failed pretty quickly, as it depended upon Mom actually having paper money in her possession to shell out...hahahaha! (and the darn kids don't take credit cards, imagine!) Then there was the even-less-popular Phantom Allowance where I promised them the bucks, but then forgot, or failed to stop by the ATM, or put it off for so long they threatened to sue me for Back Wages (Good thing they're too young to watch Law and Order; the day they figure out how to "lawyer up" I'll be in deep trouble.) So, I finally hit upon a system that works efficiently and effectively for us: the First-of-the-Month Plan. The Bank of Mom calculates what their net total will be, then forks it over all at once (minus their automatic 10% each deductions for Savings and Donations). They are then free to tuck it away and let it accumulate toward a larger purchase in the future, or spend, baby, spend as they see fit. Over time, the boys have demonstrated very different Consumer Personalities. There's Derek, the Prudent Saver, who at several times already in his 11-years has patiently socked away cash until he has had enough for a Bigger-Ticket Item. And...there's Riley, the Happy Spender, who barely has his itchy little fingers on the bills before he's dreaming and scheming about how to get rid of them.

As their Financial Adviser, I mostly try NOT to micromanage their decisions. When I hand them the moolah, they must assume responsibility for their choices (as in--true example--"Riley, you opted to buy a Paint-Your-Own Rubber Ducky this month, now you're out of money until July. Deal with it."). Mostly, this has worked out quite well: it makes them at least stop and think about how to use their available resources before pulling the trigger on impulse purchases. I like to believe I'm helping to teach them the old-fashioned value of a dollar (which sure does not buy much these days, but they still get the point). However, I recently permitted us to tiptoe down a potentially perilous path...the one that leads to Buying on Credit. You see, Derek was hit with a sudden, powerful yearning to upgrade his Nintendo-DS (Don't ask me where he gets these crazy urges for shiny new tech toys...what?...I needed an Android phone!...Really!) He had most of the money already, but wouldn't accrue the rest for a few more months...so he requested an Advance on his allowance. (Oh, and he refused to settle for a Used model, to which his father oh-so-helpfully chimed in "Of course, you want it right out of the box, for that new car smell!" I am SOOO blaming this on the Y-Chromosome...)

After about a day's worth of deliberation, during which time he thoroughly examined the ramifications of blowing his wad of cash on one expensive toy, and I tried to weigh the pros and cons of approving this transaction, we came to the conclusion that he could go forward. The most relevant consequence as I saw it was that he would not have money for any new games to play on his spiffy new console. BUT. Since he had bought the original DS with his own savings as well, I offered to post it on Craigslist for him, and give him the proceeds. It sold in less than 48-hours. So much for the pain of being penniless until August...

Thus, in one fell swoop, I've imparted lessons about how to negotiate Cash Advances, buy desired items on Credit, and utilize the profitable Online Marketplace. Not a bad week's work for an Investment Guru. Now where's my commission? (Luckily I work for coffee and chocolate!)