We just had one of those (fortunately very rare) weeks when technology, which is usually a dependable, agreeable presence in our household, decided to all of a sudden turn around and bite us in the...well, wallet, in this case. I guess you could say Husband and I actually started the cyber-snowball rolling when we decided it was time to replace the "downstairs computer". This was a desktop computer, with the full set of space-sucking components--keyboard, mouse, monitor, CPU. Also, it was 8-1/2 years old, which as we all know is just ancient in computer years. Furthermore, due to a tragic series of vicious viral attacks, it had already been resuscitated from the machine graveyard....twice. We figured we were just pushing our luck asking this poor old guy to keep chugging along for us. So we patted ourselves on the back for being proactive and putting it out to pasture before it died once and for all. We agreed that we would purchase a laptop this time--smaller and more efficient. Then I of course performed copious amounts of research to decide exactly which one to buy. So far, so good. I reached a conclusion, ran it by the rest of the Board, (um...also known as "Husband") and ordered our new computer.
In the meantime, Husband continued to utilize the current desktop until Fed Ex delivered its replacement, and I emailed and blogged and Facebooked like I normally do, on the "upstairs computer" (my laptop). Business as usual....until the fateful Tuesday afternoon that the Dell box arrived on our doorstep, that is. I unwrapped the new laptop and did the obligatory oohing and aahing over its shiny, sleek exterior. I didn't plan to set it up, however, until perhaps the weekend, when we would have time to fully backup and wipe clean the old CPU and effect the file transfer to the new machine. BUT (there's always a "but" in my stories, have you noticed?) after finishing the admiration period, I retired upstairs to--I don't remember what, but probably post something about it on Facebook--and disaster struck. I simply picked up my power cord to move it a few inches out of my way, and the...electrical...box...thingy...popped loudly and shot angry sparks at me. After dropping the cord to the ground and inspecting it closely to make sure it wasn't going to ignite the carpet, I carefully picked it back up and spotted an exposed section of wires where--and here I'm employing my extensive knowledge of electrical...doohickeys--the short had occurred. (You like that? Real Official Electrician's Terminology...or something.) The computer itself appeared not to have noticed the drama, and was still humming along serenely...but now it couldn't be plugged in and charged.
How to address this dilemma? Why, steal--I mean commandeer--the new "downstairs laptop", naturally! This would buy me some time to try to scrounge up a suitable power source, if it even existed. The thing is, my laptop is almost 5 years old, which is, if possible, even more antiquated in "portable computer years" than the one we had just finished switching. The practical consequence is: the technology has of course changed over the past several years, meaning that even an extremely well-stocked Computer Megastore could not locate a power cord that matched my fried one. And Toshiba wanted a cool hundred bucks to send me a new one...for a computer I spent around $500 on in the first place...that I was planning to upgrade this summer anyway. Wait, let me think--throw money at an old, heavy, bulky laptop to get it to last a few more months...or channel that same moolah toward a brand-spanking-new, ultra-thin-and-light netbook? Um, thanks but no thanks, Toshiba!
So the good news was that I would be getting a new computer at an earlier date than expected. And the bad news? A bit of a shock to the old credit card, that's all, nothing it can't handle. And here I sit, typing away on the "borrowed" laptop while waiting for Fed Ex...again. And hey, I've already practiced by configuring one computer this week--removing all the stupid unnecessary trial programs; downloading the preferred browser; installing all of the free anti-virus/spyware/malware (don't ask me what the difference is, I just follow directions and do what I'm told...by Expert Geeks); adjusting the Touchpad buttons so they Stop. Ticking. Me. OFF. When the next one shows up, I'll be ready to tackle that sucker and get it up and running in no time. (And yes, I DO want my Tech Support t-shirt, thank you very much!) But I would have to say, we are absolutely D-O-N-E. We've had our share of technical difficulties for the entire year, all crammed into one week. I expect a smooth, trouble-free 2012 from here on out...now where can I download that?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Yet Another Clothing Conundrum
Over the years, I've reached the inescapable conclusion that my children must be part Polar Bear, due to their uncanny ability to generate and maintain their own supply of warmth without the benefit of extra layers of clothing. (Don't ask me exactly how that happened--given that my own Personal Preferred Temperature lies somewhere between...oh, 70 and 85 degrees. Below that, and I'm piling on additional shirts to keep from shivering!) Now that we're...sort of...having Winter, and Derek needs to be at the bus stop by 7:20 in the morning, at least he has the sense (and frigid knees) to wear jeans when he shuffles out of the house. (He still refuses to succumb to his heavy coat, though, using the excuse that "it takes up too much space in his locker". Uh huh...) By the time Riley gets up, however, the thermometer has crept up just enough for us to engage in the unavoidable "but WHY do I have to wear long pants? I get so hot in school!" Debate. In an attempt to put an end to the daily drama, I finally set an absolute break point--the number at which I would cease to entertain arguments of any kind. And that number is: 40 degrees. That's right, if it's 40 or above, I let him get away with shorts. Anything that starts with a 2 or 3, no dice.
Believe it or not, the Pants Policy has saved us any number of pointless before-school apparel struggles; Riley is so used to it now, he just goes downstairs to check the readout on our indoor/outdoor thermometer, and dresses himself accordingly. (Although if he knows for a fact it's supposed to warm up later, I might catch some mutinous muttering under his breath about how uncomfortable he's going to be wearing the offensive leg-covering items until 4 p.m.) Occasionally, there has even been some positive feedback, such as on a recent barely-40-degree morning, when I allowed him to get away with shorts. His response? Dancing around delightedly, crowing "Thank you, thank you, thank you: Best. Mommy. Ever!" He added that the previous day, when it had been 37 degrees and he'd had to wear windpants to school, he was "burning up!" Then there was yesterday, when the temps started in the 30s, but were projected to rise to the mid-60s by afternoon. Riley had obediently donned long pants in preparation for going to school, but when I shared the weather forecast with him, he hastily changed, right before leaving the house. Naturally, I didn't notice until we were already at the bus stop and it was far too late to enforce the Family Law. (Hey, maybe next time I could impose a fine! Like a...Shorts Surcharge, or something! Mwah hah hah!)
It should be noted that this is also the boy who will remove a sweatshirt before sitting down to a meal, since he has some kind of problem eating while clad in long sleeves. (Are you sensing an over-arching theme in his life? Yeah, me too...not that I understand it at all...) However...things might have gone just a bit too far when at dinner one night Riley picked up his fork to begin, then put it back down and mumbled into his plate that he needed to be excused for a moment to go upstairs. Okaaaayyyy...why? He looked around furtively, as if weighing whether he truly wanted to answer the question, then blurted, "Because I don't wanna eat with pants on!" Oh. Dear. He's quite the character... my little Nudist Diner! (Alright, he did actually come back down to the table having changed into--you guessed it--shorts. Good thing we're not a Formal Dinner kind of family, right?)
Believe it or not, the Pants Policy has saved us any number of pointless before-school apparel struggles; Riley is so used to it now, he just goes downstairs to check the readout on our indoor/outdoor thermometer, and dresses himself accordingly. (Although if he knows for a fact it's supposed to warm up later, I might catch some mutinous muttering under his breath about how uncomfortable he's going to be wearing the offensive leg-covering items until 4 p.m.) Occasionally, there has even been some positive feedback, such as on a recent barely-40-degree morning, when I allowed him to get away with shorts. His response? Dancing around delightedly, crowing "Thank you, thank you, thank you: Best. Mommy. Ever!" He added that the previous day, when it had been 37 degrees and he'd had to wear windpants to school, he was "burning up!" Then there was yesterday, when the temps started in the 30s, but were projected to rise to the mid-60s by afternoon. Riley had obediently donned long pants in preparation for going to school, but when I shared the weather forecast with him, he hastily changed, right before leaving the house. Naturally, I didn't notice until we were already at the bus stop and it was far too late to enforce the Family Law. (Hey, maybe next time I could impose a fine! Like a...Shorts Surcharge, or something! Mwah hah hah!)
It should be noted that this is also the boy who will remove a sweatshirt before sitting down to a meal, since he has some kind of problem eating while clad in long sleeves. (Are you sensing an over-arching theme in his life? Yeah, me too...not that I understand it at all...) However...things might have gone just a bit too far when at dinner one night Riley picked up his fork to begin, then put it back down and mumbled into his plate that he needed to be excused for a moment to go upstairs. Okaaaayyyy...why? He looked around furtively, as if weighing whether he truly wanted to answer the question, then blurted, "Because I don't wanna eat with pants on!" Oh. Dear. He's quite the character... my little Nudist Diner! (Alright, he did actually come back down to the table having changed into--you guessed it--shorts. Good thing we're not a Formal Dinner kind of family, right?)
Monday, January 30, 2012
Lizards and turtles and fish, oh my!
This past October, Derek first broached the subject of being allowed to acquire a pet of some kind. It's now been a little over a year since we made the difficult decision to give our cat to another family, due to allergy and hygiene issues (ours, and the feline's, respectively) and I think he had been missing the presence of a four-legged friend in the house. Since then, the topic has cropped up again from time to time, but in a passing manner, unaccompanied by any whining, or begging, or...formal documentation. But that was about to change, suddenly and without any warning whatsoever. This weekend brought serious, organized escalation in the...Pet-itioning. (Sorry! Wait, who am I kidding, no I'm not!) Was I suspicious when the two brothers sat down innocently at their drawing table with paper and markers, and appeared to be industriously working on...a secret project of some kind? No, I just thought how delightful it was that they were sharing the same space and materials in such a cooperative and pleasant way. (Ha! Silly me!) As it turned out, they were compiling neatly-numbered, handwritten lists, ordering their Top Pet Choices. Which of course they then presented to me with great gravity and ceremony. And the winners? As follows:
Derek: 1. Turtle Riley: 1. American Toad
2. Frog/Toad 2. Lizard
3. Fish 3. Turtle
4. Snake
5. Lizard
(Evidently this should be considered a work in progress, however--at least for Riley--as he later slipped a note under my door while I was napping. It read: "I changed my mind. I want a pet turtle. Love, Riley." Still later, he deliberately sought me out to add yet another footnote to his selections: "I'd prefer any kind of toad...except a spadefoot toad because they dig holes in the dirt." Well, sure, honey, I can see why that would be completely undesirable! Okay, not at all, really...but I was doing my best parental "nod and smile" thing. And as for what the heck an "American Toad" is, and how it differs from, say...a Mexican Toad, I have NO clue. I suspect I'll be learning all these things and more in the very near future....) Honestly, the whole category of "turtle/frog/fish"--yes, I do realize they're separate species, but for my purposes I'm lumping them together in the acceptable "non-furry" group--seemed okey-dokey with me. A little aquarium, some water, maybe a few rocks, and you're good to go, right? (Yeah, like I said, we have some heavy-duty research to undertake before we actually commit to a critter...or two.) But when the boys shared their ideas with Husband, he voiced objections to each of the creatures, with the exception of fish. Mostly these worries involved things along the lines of "I don't like the possibility of having to scour the house for an escaped frog or lizard, only to have them jump on my head in the middle of the night." (Seriously, that was his concern. I don't really understand why he feared the turtle--ha! UMd joke!--as they don't...hop...or move very quickly at all, as a matter of fact...Memo to Self: quiz Husband about his unnatural aversion to reptiles and amphibians.) Me, I nixed the idea of a snake immediately. There will be no scaly, slithery animals--even tightly caged ones--under my roof, no way, no how.
So, where does that leave us? Well, clearly we have some serious Family Negotiation to accomplish before any little beastie joins our household. Given the variety of...stumbling blocks....that need to be addressed and overcome before we can accept a new webbed-footed or finned member to Team WestEnders, I think we'll be working on this one for a while. Stay tuned for our next episode of Animal Planet: Eastern Maryland Edition!
Derek: 1. Turtle Riley: 1. American Toad
2. Frog/Toad 2. Lizard
3. Fish 3. Turtle
4. Snake
5. Lizard
(Evidently this should be considered a work in progress, however--at least for Riley--as he later slipped a note under my door while I was napping. It read: "I changed my mind. I want a pet turtle. Love, Riley." Still later, he deliberately sought me out to add yet another footnote to his selections: "I'd prefer any kind of toad...except a spadefoot toad because they dig holes in the dirt." Well, sure, honey, I can see why that would be completely undesirable! Okay, not at all, really...but I was doing my best parental "nod and smile" thing. And as for what the heck an "American Toad" is, and how it differs from, say...a Mexican Toad, I have NO clue. I suspect I'll be learning all these things and more in the very near future....) Honestly, the whole category of "turtle/frog/fish"--yes, I do realize they're separate species, but for my purposes I'm lumping them together in the acceptable "non-furry" group--seemed okey-dokey with me. A little aquarium, some water, maybe a few rocks, and you're good to go, right? (Yeah, like I said, we have some heavy-duty research to undertake before we actually commit to a critter...or two.) But when the boys shared their ideas with Husband, he voiced objections to each of the creatures, with the exception of fish. Mostly these worries involved things along the lines of "I don't like the possibility of having to scour the house for an escaped frog or lizard, only to have them jump on my head in the middle of the night." (Seriously, that was his concern. I don't really understand why he feared the turtle--ha! UMd joke!--as they don't...hop...or move very quickly at all, as a matter of fact...Memo to Self: quiz Husband about his unnatural aversion to reptiles and amphibians.) Me, I nixed the idea of a snake immediately. There will be no scaly, slithery animals--even tightly caged ones--under my roof, no way, no how.
So, where does that leave us? Well, clearly we have some serious Family Negotiation to accomplish before any little beastie joins our household. Given the variety of...stumbling blocks....that need to be addressed and overcome before we can accept a new webbed-footed or finned member to Team WestEnders, I think we'll be working on this one for a while. Stay tuned for our next episode of Animal Planet: Eastern Maryland Edition!
Friday, January 27, 2012
It's okay, don't be blue...
Ever have one of those instances when your precious child--the one you gave birth to, and who you know and understand as deeply as one human being can relate to another--throws you a wicked slider that sends you back to the Parental Dugout hanging your head in dejection? (For the non-baseball-oriented: it means a situation you thought you had well in-hand, but which results in an unexpected Strikeout, seriously bringing down your MBA... Mom Batting Average : ) Anyway, it all started innocently enough, with the nightly tucking-in ritual. I was just pulling the cozy fleece blanket up under Riley's chin when I noticed his bedraggled, beloved Blue Bear (Riley's delightfully simple-yet-descriptive name for a...blue teddy bear) slumping in the corner. "I'm about to do laundry," I informed my sleepy son, "do you think Blue Bear needs a wash?" Now, this particular stuffed animal has been Riley's absolute favorite, most special companion since...well, practically since birth. I believe this is the second or third edition, since we've replaced them as they've become too tattered or just plain...brownish rather than sky-blue. Not only has Blue Bear adorned Riley's bed since he was a tot, but he's also come with us on every trip we've ever taken. So trust me when I say this little guy is a bonafide member of Team WestEnders.
But...somewhere in the back of my mind, I guess I was thinking that Riley's 8-1/2 years old now, maybe reaching the end of the "Stuffed Pal" stage, and possibly ready to give up Blue Bear sometime soon...ish. So out of my mouth came the following statement: "Wow, buddy, Blue Bear's looking pretty beat up! We might have to replace him before too long." I mean really, how innocuous is that? How well-intentioned? How...apparently completely inflammatory. Next thing I knew, after I kissed his cheek and turned to leave, I was startled by an outbreak of sobbing from Riley's bed. We're talking full-blown, passionate despair here, with the gasping breaths and the wailing and the gushing tears. What. The. Heck. Just. Happened? In gulping bursts, he managed to squeeze out, "I don't want to throw away Blue Bear!" "No, no, NO" I hastened to assure him, using my most soothing Mom voice, "that's not what I meant at all! I was talking about getting a brand new one!" Unfortunately, instead of doing the trick and calming him down immediately, this only served to add fuel to the hysterics: "But it has to be exactly the same! Everything! Exactly! The same!" O-kaaaay, I get it...but I also knew that the probability of us finding that particular specimen was, shall we say, not bloody likely (please supply your own British accent).
To achieve Bedtime Peace, I promised to only bathe Blue Bear for now, and to return him the very second he finished fluffing in the dryer (which I did...and sometime later during the night Riley evidently found him, because when we went in to wake him the next morning, we spied the two of them snuggled tightly together. Yeah, I was soooo wrong: he's nowhere NEAR moving past his Fuzzy Friend phase. In retrospect, the fact that Riley insisted on including Blue Bear in this year's Brother Holiday Photo should have given me a huge clue. DUH.) However, by breakfast time the storm had apparently passed, as Riley was able to address the discussion with a much more tranquil and rational demeanor. In fact, he readily agreed that perhaps it would indeed be a swell idea to retire the aged, flattened, scruffy Blue Bear in favor of a fresh, clean one. I remembered that the original had been made by Gund, so we went to our most trusted and preferred online retailer--Amazon, of course--and rather quickly and easily located a bear that Riley deemed acceptable. Okay, this is my little firecracker we're talking about, so really the process involved a great deal less logical, systematic searching and weighing of options...and more gleeful hopping around and proclamations of "Best. Mommy. EVER!" when I clicked the Purchase button. (Also I got a heartfelt "Thank you for buying me that....Gunk Bear, Mommy." I totally think that's what he should be called when he arrives, don't you?)
So my baby, even though he sometimes sounds like he's 8-going-on-14, unexpectedly wants to cling to some of his childhood habits a bit longer. I'm 100% fine with that. Oh, I almost forgot: the final, critically-important element of our New Blue Bear Bargain was that Old Blue Bear will be awarded a place of honor in the family cedar chest, as a treasured memento of Riley's Early Years. Although I feel certain he will be visited, taken out, and hugged frequently, he has definitely earned his Final Resting Place. Sleep well and sweet dreams, Blue Bear!
But...somewhere in the back of my mind, I guess I was thinking that Riley's 8-1/2 years old now, maybe reaching the end of the "Stuffed Pal" stage, and possibly ready to give up Blue Bear sometime soon...ish. So out of my mouth came the following statement: "Wow, buddy, Blue Bear's looking pretty beat up! We might have to replace him before too long." I mean really, how innocuous is that? How well-intentioned? How...apparently completely inflammatory. Next thing I knew, after I kissed his cheek and turned to leave, I was startled by an outbreak of sobbing from Riley's bed. We're talking full-blown, passionate despair here, with the gasping breaths and the wailing and the gushing tears. What. The. Heck. Just. Happened? In gulping bursts, he managed to squeeze out, "I don't want to throw away Blue Bear!" "No, no, NO" I hastened to assure him, using my most soothing Mom voice, "that's not what I meant at all! I was talking about getting a brand new one!" Unfortunately, instead of doing the trick and calming him down immediately, this only served to add fuel to the hysterics: "But it has to be exactly the same! Everything! Exactly! The same!" O-kaaaay, I get it...but I also knew that the probability of us finding that particular specimen was, shall we say, not bloody likely (please supply your own British accent).
To achieve Bedtime Peace, I promised to only bathe Blue Bear for now, and to return him the very second he finished fluffing in the dryer (which I did...and sometime later during the night Riley evidently found him, because when we went in to wake him the next morning, we spied the two of them snuggled tightly together. Yeah, I was soooo wrong: he's nowhere NEAR moving past his Fuzzy Friend phase. In retrospect, the fact that Riley insisted on including Blue Bear in this year's Brother Holiday Photo should have given me a huge clue. DUH.) However, by breakfast time the storm had apparently passed, as Riley was able to address the discussion with a much more tranquil and rational demeanor. In fact, he readily agreed that perhaps it would indeed be a swell idea to retire the aged, flattened, scruffy Blue Bear in favor of a fresh, clean one. I remembered that the original had been made by Gund, so we went to our most trusted and preferred online retailer--Amazon, of course--and rather quickly and easily located a bear that Riley deemed acceptable. Okay, this is my little firecracker we're talking about, so really the process involved a great deal less logical, systematic searching and weighing of options...and more gleeful hopping around and proclamations of "Best. Mommy. EVER!" when I clicked the Purchase button. (Also I got a heartfelt "Thank you for buying me that....Gunk Bear, Mommy." I totally think that's what he should be called when he arrives, don't you?)
So my baby, even though he sometimes sounds like he's 8-going-on-14, unexpectedly wants to cling to some of his childhood habits a bit longer. I'm 100% fine with that. Oh, I almost forgot: the final, critically-important element of our New Blue Bear Bargain was that Old Blue Bear will be awarded a place of honor in the family cedar chest, as a treasured memento of Riley's Early Years. Although I feel certain he will be visited, taken out, and hugged frequently, he has definitely earned his Final Resting Place. Sleep well and sweet dreams, Blue Bear!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Virtual Nonsense
I'm quite fortunate that my dual life as a part-time Sign Language Interpreter and full-time Household Manager allows me to spend a lot of quality hours with my children. There are many implications of all this Mom/Son Bonding Experience; for example, it means I am able to remain reasonably current on their slang expressions. (Although when I use them in conversation...say, greeting Derek with a casual "Sup, yo" and maybe a friendly fist-bump, he flashes me a glance that is part-horrified, part disapproving, then scurries away, peering fearfully over his shoulder to make sure no one else caught Mom trying to be hip. To be perfectly honest, I do this on purpose, because it cracks me up to see his reactions. Shh, don't tell him!) Also, I have a pretty good grasp on their musical tastes. (Granted, this one is a no-brainer...since we tend to listen to some of the same stuff...and I run the iTunes show around here.) And, since Riley gets his DS games from Amazon (purchased by yours truly, of course--it'll be a looong time before he gets his hand on a credit card...or the account information) and Derek can only download to his iTouch after I approve his choice and enter the password, I inevitably have my finger (literally--ha!) on the pulse of the Tween Gaming World.
Speaking of that--I got my iTouch first, and immediately stocked it with the obvious (for me) entertainment selections, namely Angry Birds...Original...and Rio...and Seasons. Then I went exploring, to see what else was out there to help me waste copious amounts of time--I mean to "provide stimulating and perhaps even enlightening recreation." What did I find? Oh, soooo many options...like a game called Fruit Ninja, where you amass points by swiping your finger across the screen to "cut" produce as it flies in all directions. And Office Jerk, in which you again use your all-powerful-pointer to fling various objects (cupcake, stapler, cell phone....TNT) at a guy's head while he works at his desk. (Presumably he deserves it. Whatever, it's hi-larious!) And then one day, I discovered a delightful little app called Pocket God; you're an omnipotent being who can do just about anything you darn well please--cause earthquakes, teach pygmies how to fish...or hurl those same unsuspecting natives into the volcano. (Don't ask me why--it's just weirdly amusing to use your imaginary powers for evil...with no repercussions!) So when Derek asked to start checking out the universe of appealing apps, I couldn't really deny him the pleasure. Of course, first I taught him to read the reviews, and consider carefully before spending that hard-earned...ninety-nine cents. In the beginning, most of what he requested permission to install was naturally sports-related. Playing football or basketball with your index finger isn't my cup of tea, but to each his own, I suppose. We were all blissfully happy in our own little virtual worlds, racking up high scores and...throwing stuff.
However (you knew that had to be coming, right?) we seemed to have suddenly crossed over into some sort of nutso Parallel Cyber Dimension when these exact words emerged from Derek's mouth the other day: "Hey, Mom, is it okay if I harvest my zombies before bed?" What. The. Heck? Yeah, turns out he'd downloaded Zombie Farm, on the recommendation of one of his soccer buddies. Evidently, if you don't pluck those darn zombies when they're ready, you can't use them to invade Old MacDonald's farm. (Who knew?) Oh, and apparently he really needed to gather his carrots as well. Sure, sweetie, that sounds...utterly ridiculous, but you go right ahead! (No, in fact, I can't believe I'm approving this...) I suppose in retrospect the whole Zombie Movement shouldn't have come as a shock to me, since Riley has been involved in a heated battle pitching fierce Killer Mushrooms against the persistent Undead for quite some time now. (Plants vs. Zombies...and you gotta wonder: who on earth comes up with this stuff? Twisted Genius Game Designers, no doubt...) Of course, that's when he's not busily engaged in outfitting his Spy Hideout in the My Sims Agents game. "Mom, which couch do you think I should get, the red or the blue?" (I'm not making that up--just call him my little Interior Designer...Secret Agent...Guy.)
If someone had suggested to me 10 years ago that I'd routinely be involved in deadly-serious discussions with my children that revolved around various undercover officer and...zombie...activities, I'd have either chuckled dismissively--or called them insane. But I look at it this way: at least it's not Call of Duty, yes? We're not machine-gunning people, we're...supporting the planet's population of flora, while doing our part to protect unsuspecting citizens from marauding, flesh-eating monsters! (Oh, who am I trying to kid, it's all just silly, awesome...time-suckage!)
Speaking of that--I got my iTouch first, and immediately stocked it with the obvious (for me) entertainment selections, namely Angry Birds...Original...and Rio...and Seasons. Then I went exploring, to see what else was out there to help me waste copious amounts of time--I mean to "provide stimulating and perhaps even enlightening recreation." What did I find? Oh, soooo many options...like a game called Fruit Ninja, where you amass points by swiping your finger across the screen to "cut" produce as it flies in all directions. And Office Jerk, in which you again use your all-powerful-pointer to fling various objects (cupcake, stapler, cell phone....TNT) at a guy's head while he works at his desk. (Presumably he deserves it. Whatever, it's hi-larious!) And then one day, I discovered a delightful little app called Pocket God; you're an omnipotent being who can do just about anything you darn well please--cause earthquakes, teach pygmies how to fish...or hurl those same unsuspecting natives into the volcano. (Don't ask me why--it's just weirdly amusing to use your imaginary powers for evil...with no repercussions!) So when Derek asked to start checking out the universe of appealing apps, I couldn't really deny him the pleasure. Of course, first I taught him to read the reviews, and consider carefully before spending that hard-earned...ninety-nine cents. In the beginning, most of what he requested permission to install was naturally sports-related. Playing football or basketball with your index finger isn't my cup of tea, but to each his own, I suppose. We were all blissfully happy in our own little virtual worlds, racking up high scores and...throwing stuff.
However (you knew that had to be coming, right?) we seemed to have suddenly crossed over into some sort of nutso Parallel Cyber Dimension when these exact words emerged from Derek's mouth the other day: "Hey, Mom, is it okay if I harvest my zombies before bed?" What. The. Heck? Yeah, turns out he'd downloaded Zombie Farm, on the recommendation of one of his soccer buddies. Evidently, if you don't pluck those darn zombies when they're ready, you can't use them to invade Old MacDonald's farm. (Who knew?) Oh, and apparently he really needed to gather his carrots as well. Sure, sweetie, that sounds...utterly ridiculous, but you go right ahead! (No, in fact, I can't believe I'm approving this...) I suppose in retrospect the whole Zombie Movement shouldn't have come as a shock to me, since Riley has been involved in a heated battle pitching fierce Killer Mushrooms against the persistent Undead for quite some time now. (Plants vs. Zombies...and you gotta wonder: who on earth comes up with this stuff? Twisted Genius Game Designers, no doubt...) Of course, that's when he's not busily engaged in outfitting his Spy Hideout in the My Sims Agents game. "Mom, which couch do you think I should get, the red or the blue?" (I'm not making that up--just call him my little Interior Designer...Secret Agent...Guy.)
If someone had suggested to me 10 years ago that I'd routinely be involved in deadly-serious discussions with my children that revolved around various undercover officer and...zombie...activities, I'd have either chuckled dismissively--or called them insane. But I look at it this way: at least it's not Call of Duty, yes? We're not machine-gunning people, we're...supporting the planet's population of flora, while doing our part to protect unsuspecting citizens from marauding, flesh-eating monsters! (Oh, who am I trying to kid, it's all just silly, awesome...time-suckage!)
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
One Crazy Mixed-Up Soundtrack
This past weekend I had to carve time out of my busy schedule for the very complicated and time-consuming chore of Updating iPods. You might wonder how on earth this could possibly even be worthy of mention, much less a difficult task. (Especially since it can conceivably be accomplished whilst lounging in one's PJs, sipping coffee.) The short answer is: we now have 3 different iPod devices among us, each representing a listener with wildly varied taste. While we do share a teensy-little bit of overlap in our preferences, I really needed to figure out how to arrange our growing iTunes Library into separate folders for each of us; so, for instance, I don't end up with all of Derek's AC/DC cuts or every single Black Eyed Peas single from Riley's Shuffle. Having successfully accomplished the cyber-cleaning-and-organizing, I was ready for Derek's helpfully-constructed list of tunes he wished included in his Playlist. These included: Club Can't Handle Me by Flo Rida; Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO (more on that in a second); Life if a Highway by Rascal Flatts; Iron Man by Black Sabbath; Rock You Like a Hurricane by the Scorpions; and Rudie Can't Fail (along with 6 others) by the Clash. Okey-dokey, my little punky, hip-hopping...country classic rocker?
Fresh from completing the re-stocking of the mp3s, I was describing these eclectic selections to Husband after dinner one night while gathered in our room for Reading Time. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then mused, "I can't even tell you what an 'LMFAO' is." Derek dropped his gaze and mumbled, "You don't want to know." That got my attention--"Wait, you do?" He nodded sheepishly. I suppose this shouldn't have been all that surprising, since Husband doesn't really text much, and determinedly avoids joining the Facebook Revolution. And I'm sure one of my son's charming 6th-grade buddies clued him in at lunch or on the bus. (Darn Middle School!) Naturally, Riley immediately commenced leaping up and down, shrieking, "What does it mean? I want to know too!" Fortunately I only had to supply the first 2 letters for Husband to guess the rest, eyes widening in recognition as he breathed, "Ohhhhhh!" (We still didn't tell Riley--he'll probably just go ask someone at school. Sigh.)
Then when Riley heard what Derek had gotten added to his player, he excitedly informed me, "But I want AC/DC, and Queen, and Tom Petty, and the Clash, too!" Oh, reeeeaaallly? Well, alrighty then. And on a possibly related note...the next morning before we headed to the bus stop he strode into my room and asked, "Mom, can you spike my hair up with gel today?" So let me get this straight: you want to go to school with a spiky mohawk, humming Should I Stay or Should I Go under your breath...that should go over sooooo well in 3rd-grade! I mean, absolutely! Have a great day, honey! I'll just be here at home by the phone, anticipating that very special call from your teacher to...discuss things... (Hey wait a minute--how could I have forgotten that their exposure to the Clash is entirely Husband's fault! I mean, it's not like they're begging me for Glee songs, right? So I think I'll just be forwarding that call right on through to his office...mwah hah hah!! Meanwhile, I'll keep my fingers crossed they don't get into the CDs anytime soon and discover the Violent Femmes...)
Fresh from completing the re-stocking of the mp3s, I was describing these eclectic selections to Husband after dinner one night while gathered in our room for Reading Time. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then mused, "I can't even tell you what an 'LMFAO' is." Derek dropped his gaze and mumbled, "You don't want to know." That got my attention--"Wait, you do?" He nodded sheepishly. I suppose this shouldn't have been all that surprising, since Husband doesn't really text much, and determinedly avoids joining the Facebook Revolution. And I'm sure one of my son's charming 6th-grade buddies clued him in at lunch or on the bus. (Darn Middle School!) Naturally, Riley immediately commenced leaping up and down, shrieking, "What does it mean? I want to know too!" Fortunately I only had to supply the first 2 letters for Husband to guess the rest, eyes widening in recognition as he breathed, "Ohhhhhh!" (We still didn't tell Riley--he'll probably just go ask someone at school. Sigh.)
Then when Riley heard what Derek had gotten added to his player, he excitedly informed me, "But I want AC/DC, and Queen, and Tom Petty, and the Clash, too!" Oh, reeeeaaallly? Well, alrighty then. And on a possibly related note...the next morning before we headed to the bus stop he strode into my room and asked, "Mom, can you spike my hair up with gel today?" So let me get this straight: you want to go to school with a spiky mohawk, humming Should I Stay or Should I Go under your breath...that should go over sooooo well in 3rd-grade! I mean, absolutely! Have a great day, honey! I'll just be here at home by the phone, anticipating that very special call from your teacher to...discuss things... (Hey wait a minute--how could I have forgotten that their exposure to the Clash is entirely Husband's fault! I mean, it's not like they're begging me for Glee songs, right? So I think I'll just be forwarding that call right on through to his office...mwah hah hah!! Meanwhile, I'll keep my fingers crossed they don't get into the CDs anytime soon and discover the Violent Femmes...)
Sunday, January 15, 2012
A Side of Mayhem (aka "we'll have the usual...")
I know I've often relayed the silly...or...outrageous...or downright head-scratching conversations that seem to occur on a regular basis at mealtimes in this household. But hey, it's been at least a week or so since I've had anything along those lines to report, so we're way overdue, right? Ha! Careful what you wish for...
In recent years I've found that I'm not very hungry at dinnertime, so rather than sit at the table and not eat, I tend to either hover nearby, hanging out and chatting while the boys chow down, or wander in and out taking care of other chores and catching bits and pieces of whatever they happen to be discussing. So the other night I had gone upstairs to put laundry away, and when I returned to the kitchen I caught the words "cesarean section" coming out of Husband's mouth. I stopped dead in my tracks and gaped at him, while he met my startled gaze with a half-apologetic, half "please rescue me, I don't know how I got myself into this" look. It turns out that this debacle got underway with Derek mentioning Julius Caesar in the midst of talking about his upcoming Social Studies Midterm. Husband couldn't resist making a wisecrack, "Oh, you mean like the salad?" Derek took this at face value, however, and responded that in fact, the salad is named after an entirely different Caesar. Not to be deterred, Husband then jumped into the muck with both feet: "Well, you know what IS named after Julius Caesar?" You guessed it, the c-section. But did beloved Husband exercise the sensible option, to just stop right there and deftly change the subject before it got any more delicate, tricky, and potentially embarrassing? Of course not! He went on to explain exactly what the term means, and how Riley was born via c-section because he was positioned the wrong way...oy! TMI for the pre-teen set!
And although I didn't believe it possible, the situation proceeded to get even worse. Riley, puzzled by the information, decided to seek clarification: "Dad, didn't I come out of Mom's...inappropriates?" Oh. Good. Grief. But immediately I encouraged, "It's okay, honey, you can use the correct term." It was all he could do to whisper the v-word--and just when I was admiring his adorable innocence, and thinking about how I would go ahead and give him permission to use the more generic "girl parts" until he was older and could handle it without mortification...Goofball Big Brother opened up his big Middle School mouth and crowed, "Yeah, it's just the female version of a winkie!" Okay, that's it, I give up, you're all grounded! Actually, I believe at that point I remembered some extremely urgent task I needed to accomplish immediately...in a far-removed portion of the house. And from now on, I might be boycotting dinner altogether.
However, would you believe there's a footnote to this tale? (Yes, brace yourself...) This addendum will serve to illustrate two points: 1. The Y-Chromosome Influence is so pervasive in this family that I may have been incurably infected (Can that even happen? Like a grownup version of Boy Cooties? Well if so, I definitely have it); and 2. We might ALL have a bit of a video game problem these days. Here's what happened...we had just finished lunch at a restaurant and the guys had all gone to the restroom to wash up. When they returned, Husband reported that there had been "much giggling" during the...proceedings. "What happened?" I absentmindedly inquired. (What the heck was I thinking? Have I learned nothing in the last decade about what's hilarious to the Male Species? Sigh.) Husband described how Derek had nearly, due to a temporary attentional lapse, shall we say "missed the mark"...and hit his brother instead. When I turned to give Derek the patented Mom Glare, he unabashedly declared, "What? I can't control these things!" And what retort popped into my mind--and out of my mouth before I could swallow it back--in that instant? "Ha! I guess you had a Pee Power-Up!" (You know, like when you're chasing someone in your game, and you get a certain number of points, and receive special strength or speed or blasting ability for a set amount of time...a Power Up? Oh, never mind...like I said, we may have to institute a 12-Step Program to deal with our family-wide Video Game...issue.) Maybe I'd be safer just inviting myself over to OTHER people's houses for meals...any takers? Hello...dear friends...cherished family members...anyone?
In recent years I've found that I'm not very hungry at dinnertime, so rather than sit at the table and not eat, I tend to either hover nearby, hanging out and chatting while the boys chow down, or wander in and out taking care of other chores and catching bits and pieces of whatever they happen to be discussing. So the other night I had gone upstairs to put laundry away, and when I returned to the kitchen I caught the words "cesarean section" coming out of Husband's mouth. I stopped dead in my tracks and gaped at him, while he met my startled gaze with a half-apologetic, half "please rescue me, I don't know how I got myself into this" look. It turns out that this debacle got underway with Derek mentioning Julius Caesar in the midst of talking about his upcoming Social Studies Midterm. Husband couldn't resist making a wisecrack, "Oh, you mean like the salad?" Derek took this at face value, however, and responded that in fact, the salad is named after an entirely different Caesar. Not to be deterred, Husband then jumped into the muck with both feet: "Well, you know what IS named after Julius Caesar?" You guessed it, the c-section. But did beloved Husband exercise the sensible option, to just stop right there and deftly change the subject before it got any more delicate, tricky, and potentially embarrassing? Of course not! He went on to explain exactly what the term means, and how Riley was born via c-section because he was positioned the wrong way...oy! TMI for the pre-teen set!
And although I didn't believe it possible, the situation proceeded to get even worse. Riley, puzzled by the information, decided to seek clarification: "Dad, didn't I come out of Mom's...inappropriates?" Oh. Good. Grief. But immediately I encouraged, "It's okay, honey, you can use the correct term." It was all he could do to whisper the v-word--and just when I was admiring his adorable innocence, and thinking about how I would go ahead and give him permission to use the more generic "girl parts" until he was older and could handle it without mortification...Goofball Big Brother opened up his big Middle School mouth and crowed, "Yeah, it's just the female version of a winkie!" Okay, that's it, I give up, you're all grounded! Actually, I believe at that point I remembered some extremely urgent task I needed to accomplish immediately...in a far-removed portion of the house. And from now on, I might be boycotting dinner altogether.
However, would you believe there's a footnote to this tale? (Yes, brace yourself...) This addendum will serve to illustrate two points: 1. The Y-Chromosome Influence is so pervasive in this family that I may have been incurably infected (Can that even happen? Like a grownup version of Boy Cooties? Well if so, I definitely have it); and 2. We might ALL have a bit of a video game problem these days. Here's what happened...we had just finished lunch at a restaurant and the guys had all gone to the restroom to wash up. When they returned, Husband reported that there had been "much giggling" during the...proceedings. "What happened?" I absentmindedly inquired. (What the heck was I thinking? Have I learned nothing in the last decade about what's hilarious to the Male Species? Sigh.) Husband described how Derek had nearly, due to a temporary attentional lapse, shall we say "missed the mark"...and hit his brother instead. When I turned to give Derek the patented Mom Glare, he unabashedly declared, "What? I can't control these things!" And what retort popped into my mind--and out of my mouth before I could swallow it back--in that instant? "Ha! I guess you had a Pee Power-Up!" (You know, like when you're chasing someone in your game, and you get a certain number of points, and receive special strength or speed or blasting ability for a set amount of time...a Power Up? Oh, never mind...like I said, we may have to institute a 12-Step Program to deal with our family-wide Video Game...issue.) Maybe I'd be safer just inviting myself over to OTHER people's houses for meals...any takers? Hello...dear friends...cherished family members...anyone?
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Status Update...of sorts
Somehow we've stealthily crept right into the middle of the school year, (doesn't that make us sound like...Scholastic Ninjas, or something?) so it seems like an opportune time for an informal Family Report Card:
--At the halfway point of 3rd grade, Riley seems to have adapted to the increased demands of his daily academic challenges. I guess he's finally resigned himself to accepting the fact that when you're smart, they give you the more advanced and difficult assignments. (Tough it out, kid, this will be the story of your life for the next decade or so...or is that too much "cold hard facts" and not enough "parentally nurturing"? I'd better work on that...) And he's come up with his own coping strategy that seems to be helping: when he's particularly concerned about a specific issue, he brings it up at bedtime so we can "talk it through" in that quiet, peaceful time when it's just him and me and I'm tucking him under his covers. He'll describe something along the lines of “feeling time-pressured while he's trying to complete his Reading Questions”, or “not fully understanding the directions for his Math Worksheets”. Then we'll brainstorm ways he can manage these classroom dilemmas so that he feels more empowered and successful. I swear it's kind of like our own little Bedtime Business Meeting, with the agenda, and the discussion, and the problem-solving. But apparently it's working, because after one of our conversations he calmed down, implemented the technique we'd identified as the appropriate solution (in this case, the simple-but-effective "ask your teacher for clarification" method), and reported back after school that not only had it gotten good results, but his teacher had "thanked him for asking the question!" Whew, I'm finding 3rd grade to be SOOO much rougher this time around...
--Then there's Derek...who recently underwent Midterm Exams for the first time in his life. 6th grade? Really? I may not remember my own Middle School years with absolute clarity, but I'm pretty doggone sure I didn't have Exams. (Regular old Unit Tests, sure, but not the big-time Upper-Case-Exams!) In terms of WHY they administer Midterms at this point in one's school life, my only conjecture is that maybe they're preparing the students for the High School model...which is now based on College Semesters, meaning classes run from September to January, then wrap up and change to a whole new schedule for the second half of the year. But in Middle School, they just continue with the same schedule through June, so I’m guessing this is just practice torture—I mean “valuable academic experience”. They arrange it like a real Exam Schedule, with 2-hour slots for each class. However, Derek reported that the actual tests themselves took anywhere from 15 minutes (P.E.) to an hour (Social Studies), after which they chatted with their friends, watched a movie...or played basketball. But before I disparage the whole process as being a pointless waste of time and brain-power, I did take a peek at some of Derek's Study Guides to educate myself as to just what he would be required to know...and it was eye-opening, let me tell you. For example, in Social Studies, he had to be able to discuss topics such as: the geography and government of Ancient Greece; the influence of the Etruscans on the Roman Empire; the strengths and weaknesses of Alexander the Great; and the Punic Wars. A sample question from his English Study Guide reads: "Write a well-developed paragraph explaining how the author uses word choice and imagery to create tone in this poem. Use information from the text to support your response." Can I possibly express how elated I am that this is not my job to learn this stuff? Holy Advanced Topics, Batman! At least in P.E., one of the questions was: "What's the job of the Quarterback?" Even I could answer that one!
So there you have it. I feel like I should really go...pick up a textbook and take some notes, or something. If I'm going to keep up with my children, I've clearly got some studying to do! Jeez, I hope there's not a Mom Test coming up anytime soon...
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Los Chicos Ridiculos...
Before I learned ASL in college and graduate school, my "first other language" was Spanish. Back in the days of my educational career, one didn't start studying a second language until High School. So as a Freshman, I signed up for Espanol, and from the first "Como se llama usted?" I was hooked. Due to a glitch in my schedule, and the absentmindedness of la maestra (que Dios le bendiga), I ended up squeezing 5-years' worth of instruction into my four year stint. So by the time I landed in college, my score on the Language Placement Exam allowed me to bypass the "Yo soy de Puerto Rico, de donde es usted?" stage and skip right to the fun stuff--courses like History, Art, and Literature, all taught completely in Spanish, taken by Language Majors and (better yet) Native Speakers. It. Was. Awesome!
Of course, nowadays, I don't get many opportunities to use Spanish--a fact which pains me to no end. So I've been eagerly anticipating the time when Derek finally begins his own Foreign Language instruction. (Which will be Spanish...he just doesn't have a choice in the matter. What do you mean, it's not all about me?) In the modern era, they apparently start 'em in Middle School. But this year we opted for the Reading Class instead, as it came recommended by other parents who've been through the 6th Grade Experience already. So we actually have until 7th grade for me to truly start practicing on--I mean with--Derek as my guinea pig...um, "conversational partner". Until then, I sometimes amuse myself by tossing out Spanish words anyway, whether or not the boys will understand what I'm babbling about. (Seems fair, doesn't it? With all the nonsense I listen to on a daily basis?)
For example, the other night we were all sitting in my room, reading our own novels, when I glanced up and noticed that it was getting late. Here is the exact exchange that followed:
"When do you want to be tucked in?" I inquired of Riley, snuggled up against me.
"In 3 minutes," he sleepily answered.
"Okay," I nodded, "tres minutos."
(He shot me a "what the heck?" look but refrained from responding...)
However, from across the room in the reclining chair, Derek snorted with laughter and incredulously spit out, "Press my noodles? Is that what you said?"
I believe at this point I sighed resignedly and agreed that yes, indeed, that was precisely what I had said.
It seems I had piqued Riley's interest, though, and he pressed me for more vocabulary--so I did the usual naming of eyes, nose, ears, mouth...until he interrupted me to ask earnestly, gazing directly into my eyes, with absolute gravity, "What's the word for butt?" Yeah, RIGHT, like I'm telling you that! You must be loco, mi hijo! So he backed off, "Okay, how about something appropriate, like shirt?" Sure, I can share that one: la camisa. Immediately he turned to Derek and called, "Hey, dude, nice la camisa!" And for the next half-hour or so, the only thing I heard was "la camisa this" and "la camisa that" tossed into every possible sentence either one of them spoke. Ay yi yi. Finally, after I was practically ready to golpear them upside their cabezas, Riley came to the rescue. Either he had grown weary of the phrase himself, or he sensed I was near my flashpoint, because I overheard him gently admonishing his brother, "Okay, Derek, let's not use it for evil, now..."
Ah, just another dia with my beloved little...how do you say "goofballs" in Spanish?
Of course, nowadays, I don't get many opportunities to use Spanish--a fact which pains me to no end. So I've been eagerly anticipating the time when Derek finally begins his own Foreign Language instruction. (Which will be Spanish...he just doesn't have a choice in the matter. What do you mean, it's not all about me?) In the modern era, they apparently start 'em in Middle School. But this year we opted for the Reading Class instead, as it came recommended by other parents who've been through the 6th Grade Experience already. So we actually have until 7th grade for me to truly start practicing on--I mean with--Derek as my guinea pig...um, "conversational partner". Until then, I sometimes amuse myself by tossing out Spanish words anyway, whether or not the boys will understand what I'm babbling about. (Seems fair, doesn't it? With all the nonsense I listen to on a daily basis?)
For example, the other night we were all sitting in my room, reading our own novels, when I glanced up and noticed that it was getting late. Here is the exact exchange that followed:
"When do you want to be tucked in?" I inquired of Riley, snuggled up against me.
"In 3 minutes," he sleepily answered.
"Okay," I nodded, "tres minutos."
(He shot me a "what the heck?" look but refrained from responding...)
However, from across the room in the reclining chair, Derek snorted with laughter and incredulously spit out, "Press my noodles? Is that what you said?"
I believe at this point I sighed resignedly and agreed that yes, indeed, that was precisely what I had said.
It seems I had piqued Riley's interest, though, and he pressed me for more vocabulary--so I did the usual naming of eyes, nose, ears, mouth...until he interrupted me to ask earnestly, gazing directly into my eyes, with absolute gravity, "What's the word for butt?" Yeah, RIGHT, like I'm telling you that! You must be loco, mi hijo! So he backed off, "Okay, how about something appropriate, like shirt?" Sure, I can share that one: la camisa. Immediately he turned to Derek and called, "Hey, dude, nice la camisa!" And for the next half-hour or so, the only thing I heard was "la camisa this" and "la camisa that" tossed into every possible sentence either one of them spoke. Ay yi yi. Finally, after I was practically ready to golpear them upside their cabezas, Riley came to the rescue. Either he had grown weary of the phrase himself, or he sensed I was near my flashpoint, because I overheard him gently admonishing his brother, "Okay, Derek, let's not use it for evil, now..."
Ah, just another dia with my beloved little...how do you say "goofballs" in Spanish?
Sunday, January 8, 2012
"Be Awesome, Be a Book Nut!"*
So, almost immediately after I posted about all the different kinds of technology that my family uses on a daily basis, and how addicted we are to it, etc., the boys' and my conversation took a turn in a decidedly retro...ish direction this morning. I was reading the Washington Post Business Section (you know, checking on all my investments...not! more like scanning for Game Reviews...or new "toys" coming out soon) and noticed several items of interest that I shared with the kids as they munched their bagels. The first involved the Kodak company, which is probably heading for Chapter 11 Bankruptcy--not surprising, really, since I may be one of the few people left on Planet Earth (besides Professional Photographers? Maybe?) who still buys actual film. But, the sad end of an era, nonetheless.
The second thing that caught my eye startled me a little bit more: Barnes & Noble reports recent financial struggles, and is seeking ways to remain solvent. I guess this really shouldn't be a revelation, since everyone gets great deals on books from Amazon these days...or simply downloads them. But the real surprise came when I interrupted the chewing to share that particular tidbit with Derek and Riley. I explained how hard-copy books are probably going to disappear over time, and eventually everything will be electronic. Riley instantly looked devastated, and exclaimed, "But I like books! I'm going to protest by going to Barnes & Noble and buying more books!" (Well alrighty, then, my little Rebel With a Cause!) I pointed out that while I myself have found it somewhat difficult to transition to my Kindle, (I still make treks to the Library...and yes, shop on Amazon) their generation will likely be the bridge between the old way (cutting down trees to produce reading material) and the modern method (wirelessly transmitting novels to e-readers--ecologically sensitive and responsible). Derek chuckled in mild disbelief, "What, all the students will carry their own Kindle to school?" Um....yeah, I guess so! But I have to admit, I'm totally with them on the whole "I like to hold a book in my hands" thing. Something about feeling the paper, smelling the ink, turning the pages, flipping back and forth to re-read a passage...not to mention running your fingers along a row of volumes on a shelf, head tilted to the side, scanning titles until one catches your eye, then skimming the summary on the inside of the jacket to decide if you want to choose it...none of these experiences can be replicated on a cold, hard plastic device. I thought it was just me, but apparently I've passed on my bibliophile tendencies to my children as well. (Oops, sorry about instilling that old-fashioned streak, guys!)
It's completely weird for me to imagine a world in which brick-and-mortar bookstores fade away into oblivion, and eventually everyone walks around with their own pocked-sized computer stocked with dozens (hundreds, thousands) of books. Working on a college campus, I can glimpse the future coming (slowly, but surely) when heavy, expensive, short-lived textbooks will become obsolete, (at long last, and good riddance!) and students will merely download their semester's worth of scholastic material. Heck, by the time Derek and Riley get to college, they may type all of their class notes on a laptop, submit their homework assignments via e-mail, and read their textbooks either online or on their own e-readers. Wow. Brave New World indeed.
*borrowed from the incomparable Dr. Seuss : )
The second thing that caught my eye startled me a little bit more: Barnes & Noble reports recent financial struggles, and is seeking ways to remain solvent. I guess this really shouldn't be a revelation, since everyone gets great deals on books from Amazon these days...or simply downloads them. But the real surprise came when I interrupted the chewing to share that particular tidbit with Derek and Riley. I explained how hard-copy books are probably going to disappear over time, and eventually everything will be electronic. Riley instantly looked devastated, and exclaimed, "But I like books! I'm going to protest by going to Barnes & Noble and buying more books!" (Well alrighty, then, my little Rebel With a Cause!) I pointed out that while I myself have found it somewhat difficult to transition to my Kindle, (I still make treks to the Library...and yes, shop on Amazon) their generation will likely be the bridge between the old way (cutting down trees to produce reading material) and the modern method (wirelessly transmitting novels to e-readers--ecologically sensitive and responsible). Derek chuckled in mild disbelief, "What, all the students will carry their own Kindle to school?" Um....yeah, I guess so! But I have to admit, I'm totally with them on the whole "I like to hold a book in my hands" thing. Something about feeling the paper, smelling the ink, turning the pages, flipping back and forth to re-read a passage...not to mention running your fingers along a row of volumes on a shelf, head tilted to the side, scanning titles until one catches your eye, then skimming the summary on the inside of the jacket to decide if you want to choose it...none of these experiences can be replicated on a cold, hard plastic device. I thought it was just me, but apparently I've passed on my bibliophile tendencies to my children as well. (Oops, sorry about instilling that old-fashioned streak, guys!)
It's completely weird for me to imagine a world in which brick-and-mortar bookstores fade away into oblivion, and eventually everyone walks around with their own pocked-sized computer stocked with dozens (hundreds, thousands) of books. Working on a college campus, I can glimpse the future coming (slowly, but surely) when heavy, expensive, short-lived textbooks will become obsolete, (at long last, and good riddance!) and students will merely download their semester's worth of scholastic material. Heck, by the time Derek and Riley get to college, they may type all of their class notes on a laptop, submit their homework assignments via e-mail, and read their textbooks either online or on their own e-readers. Wow. Brave New World indeed.
*borrowed from the incomparable Dr. Seuss : )
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
