Everywhere I traveled today--yoga class, consignment shop, Target, my favorite lunch hangout--the ubiquitous, hastily-delivered, so-trite-it's-meaningless "have a nice day" was replaced by a heartfelt, cheerful "Happy Mother's Day!" I don't ever remember noticing this in years past, but it was definitely uplifting to hear mothers getting their shout-out (two days early, no less), over and over as I went about my daily business.
I have to say, though, that it was a little bittersweet. On the one hand, I'm thrilled and grateful and blessed every single day to be a mom, myself. I was someone who, well into her hedonistic 20s, really, truly thought I might never want kids of my own. (So what happened, you ask? I was abducted by aliens and implanted with powerful procreation impulses...What? No, what I meant was, "met the right man and succumbed to the all-consuming Biological Clock". Silly me...) And now, as they say, my life has never been the same. (Blah, blah, blah--I'll spare you the drippy Hallmark card about the neverending rewards of motherhood and the deep significance of the mother/child bond, etc. You're welcome. Please feel free to show your appreciation with gifts of dark chocolate.) But this will also be the first Mother's Day since we lost both my mom and my sister-in-law last year. So there's going to be a lot of missing and remembering along with celebrating. (But NOT sitting around feeling sad or sorry for ourselves...because that would just earn you a steely glare, and possibly a smack upside the head from Mom...but she'd be all for a commemorative...chocolate...toast. See where I get it?)
And while we're on the subject of early Mother's Day wishes: after my dance class on Thursday night, one of the ladies presented us with an awesome surprise. She'd brought chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of champagne to share, and also a milk-chocolate rose for each of us to take home. (Clearly she heeded the "chocolate memo"; no wonder we get along so well!) So there we were, sweaty and tired from our practice...sipping bubbly from plastic cups and noshing on sweet, sophisticated treats before returning home to our families. Sometimes it's good to be the Queen--I mean "mom"!
Then there's my own little team of boys, who entertained me with the following silliness during the evening meal tonight. First Derek said something utterly preposterous (I know, I was as profoundly shocked as you no doubt are...NOT), at which point the standard practice is usually to blame someone (Husband, generally) for being the root cause of his ridiculous behavior and/or mental functioning. I don't recall exactly what was said, but I believe there was a verrrrry roundabout allusion to...ahem...how children are "produced", if you will. Husband quickly pointed out, "Well, (she) did most of the work!" (Thank you, dear--your proper citation for credit in the baby-carrying-and-bearing process is noted and appreciated.) Riley glanced up from his plate and hesitantly interjected, "You contributed...'you know whats'...I don't want to say it at the dinner table." (Oh. Good. Grief. It's not time for that discussion (again) already, is it? I thought we had until next year, and 5th grade Family Life Education! Oh yeah, I forgot, "older brother". Dang it!)
Fortunately, from there we were able to steer the conversation to the much safer, less potentially embarrassing ground of "what do you want for Mother's Day"? Husband asked, "Breakfast in bed"? (No, that would require me to actually speak politely and coherently to others, first thing in the morning, which is, shall we say, "not my forte" (Do you hear an alarm? It's okay, that's just the Gigantic Understatement Alert). The next suggestion he threw out for consideration was "family hike"? Derek looked incredulous, "Who goes for a HIKE on Mother's Day"? (Spoken in a manner that implied he can't fathom how on Earth he's related to these people. I'm going to hear quite a bit of this particular tone in the next few years, I imagine...) "Actually," I replied, "I was planning to run, since it rained so much this week I didn't get out." Thus it was settled: "Family 5K," Husband proclaimed, sounding satisfied, "and maybe brunch afterwards?" As long I'm excused from preparing, cooking, or serving it, sounds like a plan! Just Don't. Forget. The. Chocolate!
Friday, May 10, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
One Step Closer (or farther away, depending on your perspective...)
You've probably heard the expression "the elephant in the room"? Well, for Team WestEnders, the pachyderm that has taken up residence with us answers to the name of Cal(ifornia). I thought it was just me, internally obsessing about all things West Coast. But it has become abundantly clear that it is, in fact, a topic on everyone's mind. Don't get me wrong, I have been sneakily--I mean "in a gently persuasive way"--trying to pull my family members onto the moving van....er, "bandwagon"...with me. Some of them have been more resistant than others. Riley, for example, cringes every time the subject comes up, while protesting vehemently about how he doesn't waaaannnnt to go. (A complete turnaround from his earlier enthusiasm, darn it!) On the other hand, Husband has shown surprising signs of climbing on board, as evidenced by such spontaneous comments as "Do you think we should contact a Real Estate agent before we visit this Summer, and walk through some houses on the market, just to get an idea of what we're in for when we're ready to buy?" (Why YES, dear, that's a brilliant idea!) Or the other day when we were discussing what sights and activities we want experience on our vacation, and he pondered out loud, "Hmm, if we move there, will we need better bikes? I feel like there'll be a lot of family rides..." (Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!)
Then there's the teenager, who every couple of days inquires, "So, are we really moving?" The last time he did that, I re-confirmed that I haven't changed my mind and couldn't help adding, "It'll be great, you'll see!" in what I thought was a perky, totally winning manner. In response, he rolled onto his back on the bed, threw his arms wide, and loudly proclaimed, "It's crushing...it's heartbreaking, it's....DEATH!" (I couldn't help but applaud this stirring performance. And also wonder how the heck he's not in Drama Club. He's so ready for his Shakespearean swordfight-to-the-fake-bloody-end scene, it's almost scary...) However, there may just be a glimmer of hope for him yet. To wit: in the car the other day I noted that traffic lately has seemed to be growing markedly worse in our little corner of the world, what with all the retail and housing construction growth. "I know, I know," he interjected, "it won't be like this in California." "Oh!" I laughed, "I have no idea, maybe it'll be better..." He replied, "I just thought that's where you were going with it," in a world-weary tone of voice. (And hey, resignation is better than outright rejection, yeah? I mean, isn't it one of the stages of grieving...I mean "acceptance"?)
I've been doing my part to mention positive aspects of the area we're interested in...things like "did you know the Santa Rosa Youth Soccer League goes up to age 19, and plays 3 seasons out of the year?" Or the even less subtle "just think, with the climate in Sonoma County, we wouldn't even need Winter coats any more!" Riley tends to groan when I do this, but today Derek gave a hint that he's actually listening. (Wait...gasp! Okay, carry on...) After school he was preparing to venture outside to play--in the gray, drizzly, coolish afternoon--and he mused, "This morning was 48 degrees. I went to school without a sweatshirt, and I was freezing. He continued, (completely unprompted, I might add) "I see what you mean about California; I could wear nothing but shorts and a tee shirt most of the year." (Yes, even he's finally losing patience with our non-Spring-like weather.) Meanwhile, I managed to coax a smidgen of excitement out of Riley--at least for the Test Run portion of our plan--by dangling a treat in front of him. In my research of the region, I stumbled upon the fact that within driving distance of where we're staying, there is: a Jelly Belly factory. You should have seen how he perked right up when we promised to put that on the agenda. (Note to self: never mind the attractive proximity to hiker-friendly mountains, entertaining cities like San Francisco, beautiful State Parks, stunning Redwood Forests, or the majestic Pacific Ocean...the way to secure Riley's cheerful cooperation apparently lies via his stomach...by way of his sweet tooth...)
So, that's the status of our little California caper at the moment. What's definite: a ten-day trial as pseudo-residents this Summer. Airline tickets, rental car, hotels, and baseball tickets have all been bought or reserved. (And on a related topic, are you ready for this? Who would the National League San Francisco Giants be playing while we're in town? That's right, our own East Coast, American League BALTIMORE ORIOLES. I ask you, does that seem like fate, or what?) Now, we wait...and finalize what we absolutely want to see and do while we're there...and of course continue to brainwash--ahem, "convince" my beloved family that relocating is the Greatest. Idea. Ever. Sigh...is it time to go yet?
Then there's the teenager, who every couple of days inquires, "So, are we really moving?" The last time he did that, I re-confirmed that I haven't changed my mind and couldn't help adding, "It'll be great, you'll see!" in what I thought was a perky, totally winning manner. In response, he rolled onto his back on the bed, threw his arms wide, and loudly proclaimed, "It's crushing...it's heartbreaking, it's....DEATH!" (I couldn't help but applaud this stirring performance. And also wonder how the heck he's not in Drama Club. He's so ready for his Shakespearean swordfight-to-the-fake-bloody-end scene, it's almost scary...) However, there may just be a glimmer of hope for him yet. To wit: in the car the other day I noted that traffic lately has seemed to be growing markedly worse in our little corner of the world, what with all the retail and housing construction growth. "I know, I know," he interjected, "it won't be like this in California." "Oh!" I laughed, "I have no idea, maybe it'll be better..." He replied, "I just thought that's where you were going with it," in a world-weary tone of voice. (And hey, resignation is better than outright rejection, yeah? I mean, isn't it one of the stages of grieving...I mean "acceptance"?)
I've been doing my part to mention positive aspects of the area we're interested in...things like "did you know the Santa Rosa Youth Soccer League goes up to age 19, and plays 3 seasons out of the year?" Or the even less subtle "just think, with the climate in Sonoma County, we wouldn't even need Winter coats any more!" Riley tends to groan when I do this, but today Derek gave a hint that he's actually listening. (Wait...gasp! Okay, carry on...) After school he was preparing to venture outside to play--in the gray, drizzly, coolish afternoon--and he mused, "This morning was 48 degrees. I went to school without a sweatshirt, and I was freezing. He continued, (completely unprompted, I might add) "I see what you mean about California; I could wear nothing but shorts and a tee shirt most of the year." (Yes, even he's finally losing patience with our non-Spring-like weather.) Meanwhile, I managed to coax a smidgen of excitement out of Riley--at least for the Test Run portion of our plan--by dangling a treat in front of him. In my research of the region, I stumbled upon the fact that within driving distance of where we're staying, there is: a Jelly Belly factory. You should have seen how he perked right up when we promised to put that on the agenda. (Note to self: never mind the attractive proximity to hiker-friendly mountains, entertaining cities like San Francisco, beautiful State Parks, stunning Redwood Forests, or the majestic Pacific Ocean...the way to secure Riley's cheerful cooperation apparently lies via his stomach...by way of his sweet tooth...)
So, that's the status of our little California caper at the moment. What's definite: a ten-day trial as pseudo-residents this Summer. Airline tickets, rental car, hotels, and baseball tickets have all been bought or reserved. (And on a related topic, are you ready for this? Who would the National League San Francisco Giants be playing while we're in town? That's right, our own East Coast, American League BALTIMORE ORIOLES. I ask you, does that seem like fate, or what?) Now, we wait...and finalize what we absolutely want to see and do while we're there...and of course continue to brainwash--ahem, "convince" my beloved family that relocating is the Greatest. Idea. Ever. Sigh...is it time to go yet?
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Boy Germs (no, the REAL kind...)
Today's report concerns Medical History--fortunately not of a catastrophic nature, but nonetheless notable in our family, due to the rarity of both its occurrence and its consequences. (How's that rank on ye olde cryptic-meter? Do I sound like a doctor, 'cuz that's totally what I was going for...okay, not really...) Anyway, I'm referring to Derek and his recent illness. I couldn't blame you for thinking: who cares? Everyone catches something from time to time, right? And that is certainly true, but we've been very lucky (knocking wood with one hand whilst typing with the other, not as easy as you might imagine) with our boys so far. Each of them tends to miss one school day each year, and never two in a row. In fact, here we are in the 4th quarter of this academic term, and the last time Derek was absent from school courtesy of germs...was two years ago in 5th grade. (Yeah, I know: jinx!)
So when he commenced sneezing and sniffling, I figured it was either caused by the evil demon pollen...or the somewhat-less-villainous common cold. I kept a watchful eye on his symptoms, to try to determine if I could help him in any pharmaceutical way, but he seemed to be managing. He powered through his scholastic responsibilities, as well as multiple soccer practices and games-- although as the week progressed he definitely showed signs of flagging energy. Then came the delightful new visitor to his beleaguered upper respiratory system: an incessant, hacking cough. By Sunday, when we were supposed to celebrate my birthday with a family dinner out at a restaurant, he was not fit to inflict upon the public-at-large. Monday morning, Husband made the call--after viewing a miserable Middle School specimen pre-7 a.m.--to keep him home for the day. And when I laid eyes on him a bit later, I immediately called the pediatrician. The words "death on toast" sprang to mind as I gazed upon his drooping eyes, sagging posture..and the preponderance of..."mucosal excretion" that continued unabated. And did I mention the loud, dry, endless coughing? In short, he was a hot mess. (Don't worry, I tried to be more objectively descriptive for the doctor...)
Sure enough, Dr. S stuck the lighted-observation-thingie (that's the technical term, I'm pretty sure...oh wait, I just remembered: otoscope. But I like mine better anyway...) in his ear canal and asked in a surprised tone, "Does this hurt?" "No," he instantly responded. "Because it's infected," she added. After peeking in the other side and in his nose (ewwww, better her than me, I must say), she presented the list of ailments: left ear infection, fluid in the right, probably moving toward a sinus infection as well. I shouldn't have been surprised--after all, this is the kid who was diagnosed with strep once...without ever complaining of a sore throat. Like I said, he doesn't go down to dreaded bacteria often, but when he does, it's "go big...and stay home"! So, she prescribed a drugstore-worth of meds to start knocking out the bad critters (including the kind of decongestant that you have to request from behind the counter, and show your ID, and sign for...I felt like such a shady character). Then I allowed him to sit on the couch and watch ESPN all afternoon. (He proceeded to remain in the exact same position, wrapped in a blankie, from about 1 to 6 p.m. At which point the next show was about to start and he groaned, "Ugh, not MORE SportsCenter!" Yeah, I think five hours just about catches you up on all the possible sports news out there for today...how about you move to your bed and take a nap, big guy...)
When Riley arrived home and was given the update on his brother's health, his only comment, delivered with absolutely no hint of levity whatsoever, was: "Well, at least he doesn't have the Black Death!" Oh. My. Goodness. Thank you sooooo much, Derek, for regaling us with the graphic description of that awful disease earlier in the year when your World Studies class was learning about the Middle Ages. (Clearly some things are just too memorable to be erased...and also you've apparently scarred your younger sibling for life...) Tuesday continued more of the same, so Derek was granted an extra recovery day, by the end of which he admitted, "I kind of want to go back to school; I'm bored." Your wish is my command, son--Wednesday you shall grace the world with your presence once more. So he did, and survived...and I know for a fact he must be feeling more like himself, because after he strolled into the house, he asked permission to meet a friend at the nearby park. Um, which part of "recovering" is unclear to you? Or, if that proves too complex a concept, try this one: "making up all the homework you missed".
Obviously he's back on the road to good health, headed in the right direction. (Alas) Even his typical smart alecky humor has returned--as he smeared mentho-rub on his chest before bed, he glanced down and noted, "Ooh, I'm shiny...Team Edward!" Yeah, he'll be fine. And as long as the rest of the household can avoid catching the...ahem...Black Death, everything will be back to normal by the weekend...just in time for Attempted Birthday Dinner...Take 2!
So when he commenced sneezing and sniffling, I figured it was either caused by the evil demon pollen...or the somewhat-less-villainous common cold. I kept a watchful eye on his symptoms, to try to determine if I could help him in any pharmaceutical way, but he seemed to be managing. He powered through his scholastic responsibilities, as well as multiple soccer practices and games-- although as the week progressed he definitely showed signs of flagging energy. Then came the delightful new visitor to his beleaguered upper respiratory system: an incessant, hacking cough. By Sunday, when we were supposed to celebrate my birthday with a family dinner out at a restaurant, he was not fit to inflict upon the public-at-large. Monday morning, Husband made the call--after viewing a miserable Middle School specimen pre-7 a.m.--to keep him home for the day. And when I laid eyes on him a bit later, I immediately called the pediatrician. The words "death on toast" sprang to mind as I gazed upon his drooping eyes, sagging posture..and the preponderance of..."mucosal excretion" that continued unabated. And did I mention the loud, dry, endless coughing? In short, he was a hot mess. (Don't worry, I tried to be more objectively descriptive for the doctor...)
Sure enough, Dr. S stuck the lighted-observation-thingie (that's the technical term, I'm pretty sure...oh wait, I just remembered: otoscope. But I like mine better anyway...) in his ear canal and asked in a surprised tone, "Does this hurt?" "No," he instantly responded. "Because it's infected," she added. After peeking in the other side and in his nose (ewwww, better her than me, I must say), she presented the list of ailments: left ear infection, fluid in the right, probably moving toward a sinus infection as well. I shouldn't have been surprised--after all, this is the kid who was diagnosed with strep once...without ever complaining of a sore throat. Like I said, he doesn't go down to dreaded bacteria often, but when he does, it's "go big...and stay home"! So, she prescribed a drugstore-worth of meds to start knocking out the bad critters (including the kind of decongestant that you have to request from behind the counter, and show your ID, and sign for...I felt like such a shady character). Then I allowed him to sit on the couch and watch ESPN all afternoon. (He proceeded to remain in the exact same position, wrapped in a blankie, from about 1 to 6 p.m. At which point the next show was about to start and he groaned, "Ugh, not MORE SportsCenter!" Yeah, I think five hours just about catches you up on all the possible sports news out there for today...how about you move to your bed and take a nap, big guy...)
When Riley arrived home and was given the update on his brother's health, his only comment, delivered with absolutely no hint of levity whatsoever, was: "Well, at least he doesn't have the Black Death!" Oh. My. Goodness. Thank you sooooo much, Derek, for regaling us with the graphic description of that awful disease earlier in the year when your World Studies class was learning about the Middle Ages. (Clearly some things are just too memorable to be erased...and also you've apparently scarred your younger sibling for life...) Tuesday continued more of the same, so Derek was granted an extra recovery day, by the end of which he admitted, "I kind of want to go back to school; I'm bored." Your wish is my command, son--Wednesday you shall grace the world with your presence once more. So he did, and survived...and I know for a fact he must be feeling more like himself, because after he strolled into the house, he asked permission to meet a friend at the nearby park. Um, which part of "recovering" is unclear to you? Or, if that proves too complex a concept, try this one: "making up all the homework you missed".
Obviously he's back on the road to good health, headed in the right direction. (Alas) Even his typical smart alecky humor has returned--as he smeared mentho-rub on his chest before bed, he glanced down and noted, "Ooh, I'm shiny...Team Edward!" Yeah, he'll be fine. And as long as the rest of the household can avoid catching the...ahem...Black Death, everything will be back to normal by the weekend...just in time for Attempted Birthday Dinner...Take 2!
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Too Much of the "Real World"
You've heard the phrase "teachable moment"--when you're just drifting along in the middle of an otherwise inconsequential conversation, or a daily activity, and suddenly up pops an opportunity for a Life Lesson? In my experience, so many of these occur on the playground. ("See, isn't it nice when everyone has a turn on the slide? What do we say when we knock over our little friend, even if it was an accident? And my personal favorite: Mulch is NOT edible!") Others can spring upon you in the midst of everyday routines--"No, Derek, neon lime green shorts paired with a traffic-cone orange shirt is more migraine-inducing than 'awesome' as a wardrobe choice...with which to visually assault your teachers and friends."
Then there are those conversation starters that meander into your room and announce themselves with no warning whatsoever, such as the one recently presented by Riley. Actually, he peeked his head around my doorway to make sure I was there, then solemnly asked, "You know what I'm concerned about?" Alarm bells instantly began to chime as I gazed at his serious face, wondering what the heck could possibly be coming next. Fortunately I was spared from engaging in a guessing game, as he answered his own question: "Computer privileges." Of course, sweetie...wait, I'm sorry, what? Are we talking about not being afforded enough playing time, or not having access to iTunes...'cuz that's it, that's all I've got. Again, he saved me by continuing, "My friend at school was telling me he goes online with his DS and sees some players whose Usernames have bad words in them." (Here he dropped his voice conspiratorially, as though merely the suggestion of profanity was too offensive to mention out loud.)
Ohhhhh! Now I understand. And clearly it's time for our next Big Talk...about Internet security. So, in as gentle and non-upsetting terms as possible, I warned him about guarding his personal information. (And also spelled out very specifically all the details that should be considered "private"...which encompasses pretty much everything except maybe your first name...) I reminded him of the Golden Rule (well, at least the Cyber Golden Rule): never share passwords with anyone. Since he's not actually an online gamer, this was quite probably waaaaayyyy overkill at this point, but I figured it couldn't hurt. And yet, as a person who was born before the World Wide Web was invented, I mourn the fact that I feel the need and responsibility to have this discussion with my nine year old at all.
In fact, when I was growing up, the only way you could communicate with another human being was by calling them on the (rotary dial) phone. (Lucky for us, I would imagine it's pretty difficult and unrewarding for predators to target kids this way--"reach out and touch someone" company slogan notwithstanding--so it was basically a non-issue.) Life in my rural-ish neighborhood was so laid-back, my parents locked the doors and windows only when we left for a family vacation. And no one seemed to mind the young hooligans (yes, that would be would be me and my pals) who roamed free all day long when not in school, stopping home for meals...or when darkness fell. And our Moms and Dads didn't worry. There was really no cause for distress--unless maybe one of us scraped a knee and required a hug and a band-aid.
Nowadays, I periodically review the procedures for handling such possibly tricky events as: a ringing doorbell (unless you can glimpse one of your friends standing on the porch, do not open it, period); a delivery (leave it until a parent is available to retrieve the package); or a phone call (if you recognize the number on Caller ID, pick it up; all others, ignore). Then there are the circumstances that come with real potential for peril, such as walking to a buddy's house. Riley still tends to remain close to home, but nevertheless always makes sure to tell me exactly whose yard he'll be visiting down the street. Derek wanders a bit farther afield these days, but now has the ever-important cell phone for tracking purposes. And after our rocky beginning, he has mastered the crucial skills of "obtaining permission before travelng" and the related "texting Mom when you begin your return journey". However, a recent incident involving some kids from his school--who were approached by a car on their way home--forced us to go over how to handle that situation as well.
Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not pining for the 70s to come back (so I could revel in all my plaid polyester clothing and shag haircut glory days--shudder), but I do feel a bit nostalgic for the smaller...safer....more innocent world we enjoyed. Since I can't shelter my children inside our (locked) house, sequestered from all electronic temptation, listening to Disco music and reminiscing about when life was simpler (I don't know which of us would be more nauseated by this, frankly...) I hope I'm teaching them how to feel protected...without scaring the bejeebers out of them in the process. If it all gets too overwhelming, perhaps I'll just schedule a nice day of tie-dying, Atari games, and capture-the-flag...to a Donna Summer soundtrack (mwah hah hah...)
Then there are those conversation starters that meander into your room and announce themselves with no warning whatsoever, such as the one recently presented by Riley. Actually, he peeked his head around my doorway to make sure I was there, then solemnly asked, "You know what I'm concerned about?" Alarm bells instantly began to chime as I gazed at his serious face, wondering what the heck could possibly be coming next. Fortunately I was spared from engaging in a guessing game, as he answered his own question: "Computer privileges." Of course, sweetie...wait, I'm sorry, what? Are we talking about not being afforded enough playing time, or not having access to iTunes...'cuz that's it, that's all I've got. Again, he saved me by continuing, "My friend at school was telling me he goes online with his DS and sees some players whose Usernames have bad words in them." (Here he dropped his voice conspiratorially, as though merely the suggestion of profanity was too offensive to mention out loud.)
Ohhhhh! Now I understand. And clearly it's time for our next Big Talk...about Internet security. So, in as gentle and non-upsetting terms as possible, I warned him about guarding his personal information. (And also spelled out very specifically all the details that should be considered "private"...which encompasses pretty much everything except maybe your first name...) I reminded him of the Golden Rule (well, at least the Cyber Golden Rule): never share passwords with anyone. Since he's not actually an online gamer, this was quite probably waaaaayyyy overkill at this point, but I figured it couldn't hurt. And yet, as a person who was born before the World Wide Web was invented, I mourn the fact that I feel the need and responsibility to have this discussion with my nine year old at all.
In fact, when I was growing up, the only way you could communicate with another human being was by calling them on the (rotary dial) phone. (Lucky for us, I would imagine it's pretty difficult and unrewarding for predators to target kids this way--"reach out and touch someone" company slogan notwithstanding--so it was basically a non-issue.) Life in my rural-ish neighborhood was so laid-back, my parents locked the doors and windows only when we left for a family vacation. And no one seemed to mind the young hooligans (yes, that would be would be me and my pals) who roamed free all day long when not in school, stopping home for meals...or when darkness fell. And our Moms and Dads didn't worry. There was really no cause for distress--unless maybe one of us scraped a knee and required a hug and a band-aid.
Nowadays, I periodically review the procedures for handling such possibly tricky events as: a ringing doorbell (unless you can glimpse one of your friends standing on the porch, do not open it, period); a delivery (leave it until a parent is available to retrieve the package); or a phone call (if you recognize the number on Caller ID, pick it up; all others, ignore). Then there are the circumstances that come with real potential for peril, such as walking to a buddy's house. Riley still tends to remain close to home, but nevertheless always makes sure to tell me exactly whose yard he'll be visiting down the street. Derek wanders a bit farther afield these days, but now has the ever-important cell phone for tracking purposes. And after our rocky beginning, he has mastered the crucial skills of "obtaining permission before travelng" and the related "texting Mom when you begin your return journey". However, a recent incident involving some kids from his school--who were approached by a car on their way home--forced us to go over how to handle that situation as well.
Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not pining for the 70s to come back (so I could revel in all my plaid polyester clothing and shag haircut glory days--shudder), but I do feel a bit nostalgic for the smaller...safer....more innocent world we enjoyed. Since I can't shelter my children inside our (locked) house, sequestered from all electronic temptation, listening to Disco music and reminiscing about when life was simpler (I don't know which of us would be more nauseated by this, frankly...) I hope I'm teaching them how to feel protected...without scaring the bejeebers out of them in the process. If it all gets too overwhelming, perhaps I'll just schedule a nice day of tie-dying, Atari games, and capture-the-flag...to a Donna Summer soundtrack (mwah hah hah...)
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
We here at Casa WestEnders may debate about some things (the culinary merits of tofu, for example), and outright disagree on certain others (like how much SportsCenter one should be allowed to view), in the way all families occasionally do. But one thing we find ourselves completely in sync about is: how much we appreciate sleep. Husband enjoys having a bit of a lie-in on weekends. (I just love saying that, makes us sound so much more British than we are...which is actually..."not at all"...) I myself am a huge proponent of the very civilized "afternoon nap". (And by civilized I refer to my demeanor when I wake up, contrasted with the weary-4-p.m.-grouchy-Mom.) Both boys are so active during the day that when they fall into their beds and pull up the covers, they generally drop right off into dreamland.
That is, until recently, when Riley suddenly began experiencing uncharacteristic insomnia. Now, we're talking about the child who has been known to--in a shared hotel bed--lie down, tuck the blanket up to his chin, and drift off while everyone around him continues to chat (and watch ESPN, naturally). He also has a habit of excusing himself from whatever is going on at home, announcing that he is tired, and requesting to be tucked in. So imagine my surprise when out of the blue he started coming into my room an hour or so after he had retired, complaining that he couldn't fall asleep. Even worse, after MY bedtime, I would hear his door opening and closing repeatedly, as he visited the bathroom for a drink, wandered up and down the stairs, and who knows what else (I was super-busy pretending not to notice, so I wouldn't have to actually converse with my child at that ungodly hour. I lay curled in a ball, sending "go to sleep already" vibes that I hoped would be just as effective in helping him to conquer his little difficulty.)
After this nighttime disruption continued for a day or two (and didn't just magically disappear on its own, like I wanted--drat) I decided we'd better address the issue. Riley and I sat down to chat and perhaps get to the bottom of things. (Me, metaphorically wearing my Dr. Mom, Sleep Therapist ensemble...what would that even be? Pajamas and a clipboard? Where was I...) I went through the basics: is anything bothering you? Are you worried about something? Is there a situation at school you'd like to talk about? All the while I'm thinking "Dude, you're NINE, what...stuff...could possibly be upsetting you? Everything in your life is okay, trust me!" But he assured me that nothing was pressing on his mind at the moment. So instead we moved right into the "problem solving" portion of our session--I mean "casual conversation". I reviewed several well-known methods for inducing sleep: counting whatever-you-want; playing a favorite movie in your head until you feel sleepy.
However, he reported that none of these quite did the trick. Clearly, it was time to break out the big guns--that's right, I went all yoga-zen-master on him. Well, I taught him a few tactics that are sort of related to meditation, anyway. First I reminded him of Positive Visualization, which he'd used successfully a few months ago when he had a brief spell of bad dreams that woke him up in the middle of the night. In a nutshell: picture your "happy place", whether it's somewhere you've been, a spot you'd like to visit, or a completely imaginary scene. Then we practiced Progressive Relaxation, where you tighten, hold, and release muscle groups from your toes upward, in sequence, then finish by conjuring the sensation of melting into the mattress, fully at rest. Next I demonstrated Belly Breathing; you deepen your inhales and exhales by expanding your abdomen rather than just your upper chest. Not only do you receive more oxygen, but also it naturally slows down the respiration process and soothes your body as well. Finally, for a few nights I narrated a story to him (some old favorites--The Frog Prince, The Gingerbread Man...anything with a moral, but nothing from the scary Brothers Grimm school of fairy tales...) before turning out the lights, so he could recall it in his head as a quiet, peaceful activity while (fingers crossed) becoming drowsy.
Armed with all of these tools, he seemed much calmer and more confident when staring down impending bedtime. And what do you know, except for the random potty break and maybe a glass of water, he seems to have returned to his sleep-through-the-night habits. And it's a good thing, because now I. Am. T-I-R-E-D. Maybe it's time for me to utilize a few of those techniques...for the approximately 3 minutes it takes for me to become unconscious...zzzzz....(I mean "goodnight"!)
That is, until recently, when Riley suddenly began experiencing uncharacteristic insomnia. Now, we're talking about the child who has been known to--in a shared hotel bed--lie down, tuck the blanket up to his chin, and drift off while everyone around him continues to chat (and watch ESPN, naturally). He also has a habit of excusing himself from whatever is going on at home, announcing that he is tired, and requesting to be tucked in. So imagine my surprise when out of the blue he started coming into my room an hour or so after he had retired, complaining that he couldn't fall asleep. Even worse, after MY bedtime, I would hear his door opening and closing repeatedly, as he visited the bathroom for a drink, wandered up and down the stairs, and who knows what else (I was super-busy pretending not to notice, so I wouldn't have to actually converse with my child at that ungodly hour. I lay curled in a ball, sending "go to sleep already" vibes that I hoped would be just as effective in helping him to conquer his little difficulty.)
After this nighttime disruption continued for a day or two (and didn't just magically disappear on its own, like I wanted--drat) I decided we'd better address the issue. Riley and I sat down to chat and perhaps get to the bottom of things. (Me, metaphorically wearing my Dr. Mom, Sleep Therapist ensemble...what would that even be? Pajamas and a clipboard? Where was I...) I went through the basics: is anything bothering you? Are you worried about something? Is there a situation at school you'd like to talk about? All the while I'm thinking "Dude, you're NINE, what...stuff...could possibly be upsetting you? Everything in your life is okay, trust me!" But he assured me that nothing was pressing on his mind at the moment. So instead we moved right into the "problem solving" portion of our session--I mean "casual conversation". I reviewed several well-known methods for inducing sleep: counting whatever-you-want; playing a favorite movie in your head until you feel sleepy.
However, he reported that none of these quite did the trick. Clearly, it was time to break out the big guns--that's right, I went all yoga-zen-master on him. Well, I taught him a few tactics that are sort of related to meditation, anyway. First I reminded him of Positive Visualization, which he'd used successfully a few months ago when he had a brief spell of bad dreams that woke him up in the middle of the night. In a nutshell: picture your "happy place", whether it's somewhere you've been, a spot you'd like to visit, or a completely imaginary scene. Then we practiced Progressive Relaxation, where you tighten, hold, and release muscle groups from your toes upward, in sequence, then finish by conjuring the sensation of melting into the mattress, fully at rest. Next I demonstrated Belly Breathing; you deepen your inhales and exhales by expanding your abdomen rather than just your upper chest. Not only do you receive more oxygen, but also it naturally slows down the respiration process and soothes your body as well. Finally, for a few nights I narrated a story to him (some old favorites--The Frog Prince, The Gingerbread Man...anything with a moral, but nothing from the scary Brothers Grimm school of fairy tales...) before turning out the lights, so he could recall it in his head as a quiet, peaceful activity while (fingers crossed) becoming drowsy.
Armed with all of these tools, he seemed much calmer and more confident when staring down impending bedtime. And what do you know, except for the random potty break and maybe a glass of water, he seems to have returned to his sleep-through-the-night habits. And it's a good thing, because now I. Am. T-I-R-E-D. Maybe it's time for me to utilize a few of those techniques...for the approximately 3 minutes it takes for me to become unconscious...zzzzz....(I mean "goodnight"!)
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Brainstorms (more literally than not, these days...)
If I were pressed to choose a theme for April 2013, at least pertaining to Team WestEnders, it would have to be: confusion. I think I first became aware of--at least my own--mental fogginess when I completely forgot that the boys would be bringing home Report Cards to mark the end of the 3rd quarter of school. Granted, this is the time of year when we all--either secretly (yours truly) or completely blatantly (the kids)--begin looking ahead and longing for the conclusion of the academic circus (I mean "term"). But really...me? Overlook my children's grades? That's never happened before. Must be that nefarious pollen, clogging my...cognitive pathways...or something. Or it could be the fact that after a couple of throw-open-the-windows balmy Spring teaser days, we're back to brisk temps, biting wind, fleece shirts, and relying on the furnace for heat. So really, my brain is iced over, and filled with sneeze-inducing gunk--I don't stand a chance at maintaining a semblance of coherent thought or organized behavior. (You see how I neatly blamed any upcoming instances involving forgetfulness, poor planning, or unfinished business....on Nature? Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it..)
This particular week included a veritable runaround of scheduling challenges, such as: Tuesday--Derek's soccer game with his school team (an "away" match, to which I drove from work so I could watch, then shuttle Derek home with me), followed by rec-practices for both boys; Wednesday--Derek's practice with his school team; Thursday--ditto, then a repeat of rec-league practices. Friday should have been a nice break, with absolutely no events whatsoever...but a slight wrinkle occurred in the relaxing, low-stress afternoon...when Derek failed to show up at home after school. I didn't worry right away, as he sometimes strolls and chats with a pal after getting off the bus. But when his little brother wandered in, and he still hadn't made an appearance, I became concerned. "Thank goodness we finally gave him that phone," I thought as I called him to ask where the heck he was. He answered (luckily for him), reported that he had gone to his buddy's house, and insisted that he'd attempted to leave a message but had gotten cut off by the machine. Strike One. Then I posed the crucial question: "Are your friend's parents home?" "Um...no." Strike. Two. And let me tell ya, in this Parental League, that's plenty enough for an out.
After he trudged home, we discussed--again--how "telling me where you'd like to go does not in any way constitute permission to do so...especially when you neglect to actually convey your whereabouts" and the corollary "you're not allowed to be at someone's house unsupervised. Period." Then it was time for consequences: I confiscated his electronics for the evening. No iPod to text or watch YouTube videos or check ScoreMobile updates. No PS3 for the allotted Friday evening video game time. How much of an impression did his punishment make? He got so bored during the hours before bedtime...he did his weekend homework! (Win: Mom!) Later he lamented, "My first week as a teenager, and I already got in trouble!" (Yes, dear, and I'm sure it won't be the last... )
However, all was forgotten by the time he got ready to cap off his birthday festivities by hosting the annual Family Party. He spent quality time with his cousins; he got presents; he enjoyed burgers, pigs-in-the-blanket (his special request), and chocolate cake with buttercream icing. And that, my friends, kind of sums up life as a teenage boy: lapses in judgment...busy life filled with activities...and license to consume thousands of calories a day. (Contrasted with a Mom's World: looking over your shoulder--as unobtrusively as possible--to keep you in line, shuttle you from place to place...and feed you!) I'd say, as long as we get to share the cake, it's all good!
This particular week included a veritable runaround of scheduling challenges, such as: Tuesday--Derek's soccer game with his school team (an "away" match, to which I drove from work so I could watch, then shuttle Derek home with me), followed by rec-practices for both boys; Wednesday--Derek's practice with his school team; Thursday--ditto, then a repeat of rec-league practices. Friday should have been a nice break, with absolutely no events whatsoever...but a slight wrinkle occurred in the relaxing, low-stress afternoon...when Derek failed to show up at home after school. I didn't worry right away, as he sometimes strolls and chats with a pal after getting off the bus. But when his little brother wandered in, and he still hadn't made an appearance, I became concerned. "Thank goodness we finally gave him that phone," I thought as I called him to ask where the heck he was. He answered (luckily for him), reported that he had gone to his buddy's house, and insisted that he'd attempted to leave a message but had gotten cut off by the machine. Strike One. Then I posed the crucial question: "Are your friend's parents home?" "Um...no." Strike. Two. And let me tell ya, in this Parental League, that's plenty enough for an out.
After he trudged home, we discussed--again--how "telling me where you'd like to go does not in any way constitute permission to do so...especially when you neglect to actually convey your whereabouts" and the corollary "you're not allowed to be at someone's house unsupervised. Period." Then it was time for consequences: I confiscated his electronics for the evening. No iPod to text or watch YouTube videos or check ScoreMobile updates. No PS3 for the allotted Friday evening video game time. How much of an impression did his punishment make? He got so bored during the hours before bedtime...he did his weekend homework! (Win: Mom!) Later he lamented, "My first week as a teenager, and I already got in trouble!" (Yes, dear, and I'm sure it won't be the last... )
However, all was forgotten by the time he got ready to cap off his birthday festivities by hosting the annual Family Party. He spent quality time with his cousins; he got presents; he enjoyed burgers, pigs-in-the-blanket (his special request), and chocolate cake with buttercream icing. And that, my friends, kind of sums up life as a teenage boy: lapses in judgment...busy life filled with activities...and license to consume thousands of calories a day. (Contrasted with a Mom's World: looking over your shoulder--as unobtrusively as possible--to keep you in line, shuttle you from place to place...and feed you!) I'd say, as long as we get to share the cake, it's all good!
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
More New Territory (in a metaphorical kind of way)
Well, it finally happened...D-Day arrived for our family. D like "dreaded"; D as in "denial"; D for...drumroll...duh duh duh DAH: Derek. Is. A. Teenager. I suppose I must have seen this coming, with all the changes he's been going through lately. Just the other day when we were walking side by side to the car after his soccer game, I looked over and realized (with a jolt of shock and dismay) that I could no longer see the top of his head. (Yikes! My baby!) And it's been a while now since I noticed that when I'm upstairs and he comes in from outside, chatting with Riley, I sometimes think, "Gee, Husband's home early...oh...that's Derek's voice..." (Gulp!) But the funniest (while also possibly most disturbing) aspect of this whole "growing up" thing has to be that recently we've noticed the hair over his upper lip becoming...suspiciously darker. (What the WHAT? Hide the razors!) Today he detoured on his way to the shower, poked his head into my room and asked, "Mom, do I have a moustache?" Peering dubiously at the sparse, downy fuzz on his face, I replied, "Um...only a little." He threw his hands up in the air and ranted, "I'm like a walrus! Next thing you know, I'll be growing tusks!" Typical adolescent male angst? Nah, just Derek...being a gooberhead.
This birthday differed from previous ones in other notable ways as well. Unlike elementary school, where your name gets mentioned during the morning announcements, and you proceed to the front office to pick up your special Happy Birthday pencil, and Mom is allowed to supply treats to your class for an end-of-the-day celebration...in Middle School you get nuthin'. In fact, when I innocently inquired as to whether Derek would like me to share the news with his soccer buddies, the answer (not unexpectedly) was a horrified and vehement NOOOOO! Evidently the Code of Brotherhood in 6th through 8th grades calls for a heartwarming ceremony...of birthday punches...to honor the celebrant and provide good fortune in the coming year. Now, who wouldn't want that kind of attention? Oh yeah...anyone in their right mind...) So, I refrained from spreading the word this past weekend. But someone let the proverbial cat out of the bag at school anyway, and he told me that he'd suffered quite a few blows to mark the first day of his thirteenth trip around the sun. (And also three hugs: from me, from his girlfriend, and from one teammate, who reportedly picked him up completely off the ground in his enthusiastic clutches. At least there was some love, to go along with the rough delivery of "luck".)
Then when he returned from soccer practice he regaled me with the tale of how one of his pals had greeted him upon his arrival with an enthusiastic shout of "There's Derek, it's his birthday!" At which point the entire squad had commenced a rowdy chase...while attempting to pelt him with all available soccer balls. (Imagine a dozen sweet-but-over-enthusiastic-and-uncontrolled boys...running amok...that must have been quite a scene.) "Hmm, I wonder how they found out," I mused, "because I didn't mention it to anybody." Ohhhh... then it dawned on me, and I sheepishly confessed: "except...I might have posted it on Facebook this morning..." He just stared at me, open mouthed, before going off on a sarcasm-laden tirade, something along the lines of "No, you didn't tell anyone, just the WHOLE WORLD (blah blah blah)..." I wasn't really listening, you see, since I was busy laughing on the inside at inadvertently having caused his team riot. Eh, these things happen, yeah? He appears to have survived the birthday trauma, and safely entered into his teenage years with minimal scarring...so far.
And just think, we haven't even had the family party yet...with CAKE. So I'll just have to remind him: fret not, my son, the best truly is yet to come...
This birthday differed from previous ones in other notable ways as well. Unlike elementary school, where your name gets mentioned during the morning announcements, and you proceed to the front office to pick up your special Happy Birthday pencil, and Mom is allowed to supply treats to your class for an end-of-the-day celebration...in Middle School you get nuthin'. In fact, when I innocently inquired as to whether Derek would like me to share the news with his soccer buddies, the answer (not unexpectedly) was a horrified and vehement NOOOOO! Evidently the Code of Brotherhood in 6th through 8th grades calls for a heartwarming ceremony...of birthday punches...to honor the celebrant and provide good fortune in the coming year. Now, who wouldn't want that kind of attention? Oh yeah...anyone in their right mind...) So, I refrained from spreading the word this past weekend. But someone let the proverbial cat out of the bag at school anyway, and he told me that he'd suffered quite a few blows to mark the first day of his thirteenth trip around the sun. (And also three hugs: from me, from his girlfriend, and from one teammate, who reportedly picked him up completely off the ground in his enthusiastic clutches. At least there was some love, to go along with the rough delivery of "luck".)
Then when he returned from soccer practice he regaled me with the tale of how one of his pals had greeted him upon his arrival with an enthusiastic shout of "There's Derek, it's his birthday!" At which point the entire squad had commenced a rowdy chase...while attempting to pelt him with all available soccer balls. (Imagine a dozen sweet-but-over-enthusiastic-and-uncontrolled boys...running amok...that must have been quite a scene.) "Hmm, I wonder how they found out," I mused, "because I didn't mention it to anybody." Ohhhh... then it dawned on me, and I sheepishly confessed: "except...I might have posted it on Facebook this morning..." He just stared at me, open mouthed, before going off on a sarcasm-laden tirade, something along the lines of "No, you didn't tell anyone, just the WHOLE WORLD (blah blah blah)..." I wasn't really listening, you see, since I was busy laughing on the inside at inadvertently having caused his team riot. Eh, these things happen, yeah? He appears to have survived the birthday trauma, and safely entered into his teenage years with minimal scarring...so far.
And just think, we haven't even had the family party yet...with CAKE. So I'll just have to remind him: fret not, my son, the best truly is yet to come...
 |
| 13 days |
 |
| 13 months |
 |
| 13 years! |
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Come Monday...on second thought, DON'T!!!
Ever have one of those weekends when you already know by Sunday night that what you'd just love, more than anything else in the whole wide world...is another couple of days to recover from your "time off"? Yeah, Team WestEnders has come down with a collective case of TooMuchFun-itis. It's in the mild, early stages right now, as we rest our tired muscles by sinking into the couch cushions and staring vacantly at Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN (featuring our Orioles against the despised team-who-shall-not-be-named, from the Bronx--Go, Birds!)...or typing...one guess as to who's engaged in which activity? But by tomorrow morning I expect more severe symptoms to have kicked in...possibly manifesting in the form of protest ("I don't WANNA get out of bed"), sluggishness (feet dragging down the stairs to breakfast), and generalized disorientation. ("Where am I going? School? Aargh, how can it be Monday?")
Saturday started us off with the usual Soccer Doubleheader. Riley's U10s, coming off a blowout win last week, suffered a setback when facing a much more challenging team. Riley himself took the loss hard, having been asked by his coach to play goalie during the second half, and feeling personally responsible for the two scores he allowed. I think they call those kinds of situations "character building", right? (Or maybe the lesson is: it's all good when there are post-game snacks? Mmm, that's definitely the one...) Then Derek's team, fresh from experiencing their own lopsided defeat last week, took the field. Not only were they playing without any subs on the bench, so many players were absent due to injury, illness, or...other stuff...that they would be forced to compete one-man-short. It turned out not to matter, as Derek's squad went on an offensive blitz (I mean sports-related offense, NOT the mouthy-adolescent kind, thank heavens) and handily sewed up the victory. Annnnd...that was plenty of excitement for one day, thank you very much.
Then Sunday rolled around...and really, nothing says "lazy, relaxing weekend" quite like...a 5K after-breakfast run in the park, yeah? You see, a lifelong friend of Husband's sustained a spinal cord injury in a car accident several years ago; his wife organized a race, in part to help offset his ongoing medical expenses. The actual event happened too far away for us to participate, so we had instead registered anyway, and committed to doing our own "Remote 5K" in support of the cause. Thus we set off to a local trail to jog through the woods on a cool, breezy morning. We strapped the GPS watch to the fastest runner's wrist (you guessed it, that would naturally be Derek) and gave him a fabric "flag" to attach to a tree when he reached 1.55 miles, as a signal to the rest of us to turn around at the halfway point. Derek was soon a blazing orange blur in the distance, I maintained my usual steady but by no means what you'd call "zippy" pace in the middle of our family pack, and Husband very kindly stuck with Riley to allow him walking breaks when necessary. At the conclusion of the loop, Derek had taken about 27 minutes (he confessed he'd had to stop twice...to retie his shoes...); I finished second in about 29; and the Dynamic Duo chugged in at 33-ish minutes.
Having indisputably earned our next meal, we continued the festivities by honoring Derek's Birthday Lunch selection: Panera...and Baskin Robbins thrown in for good measure. (He DID win the household NCAA pool as well, so ice cream seemed as appropriate a reward as any...) Then I had to dash off for a pedicure (a pampering treatment I never, ever do, but I was invited by some girlfriends, so what the heck?) and the boys returned home...to indulge in their allotted video game time. Then for the Grand Finale: I spent an hour or so talking to a representative from the cell phone company, attempting to successfully effect a three-way-switch (my number transferred to a new device; Husband's number moved to my phone; brand new digits assigned to Husband's old phone for Derek to use. Confused? Me toooooo...)Then of course a mandatory Tutoring Session ensued, as Husband was somewhat daunted transitioning from an..."intelligence-deprived" model...to an actual "smartphone". In the midst of my providing detailed, step-by-step demonstrations for him on such topics as "linking to an email account", "storing contact information", and "operating the navigation app", I suddenly noticed that he appeared a bit forlorn. I paused, mid-lecture, to determine what was wrong. "How do I answer it when it rings?" he plaintively asked. (Sigh...) Meanwhile Derek was busy recording his voicemail greeting, which says something along the lines of "I can't answer the phone right now...'cuz I'm being eaten by a dinosaur!" (Totally not making that up. Just another example of teenagers corrupting technology for their own nefarious purposes, I tell ya...although exactly what those purposes may be, I admit to having NO idea...)
Soooo, with weary bodies and apparently overly-full brains, we bring the weekend to a close. Bedtime looms, and not a moment too soon. I can only hope that for some of us (ME ME ME) coffee proves an effective antidote to the Dreaded Monday Syndrome...is it the weekend again yet?
Saturday started us off with the usual Soccer Doubleheader. Riley's U10s, coming off a blowout win last week, suffered a setback when facing a much more challenging team. Riley himself took the loss hard, having been asked by his coach to play goalie during the second half, and feeling personally responsible for the two scores he allowed. I think they call those kinds of situations "character building", right? (Or maybe the lesson is: it's all good when there are post-game snacks? Mmm, that's definitely the one...) Then Derek's team, fresh from experiencing their own lopsided defeat last week, took the field. Not only were they playing without any subs on the bench, so many players were absent due to injury, illness, or...other stuff...that they would be forced to compete one-man-short. It turned out not to matter, as Derek's squad went on an offensive blitz (I mean sports-related offense, NOT the mouthy-adolescent kind, thank heavens) and handily sewed up the victory. Annnnd...that was plenty of excitement for one day, thank you very much.
Then Sunday rolled around...and really, nothing says "lazy, relaxing weekend" quite like...a 5K after-breakfast run in the park, yeah? You see, a lifelong friend of Husband's sustained a spinal cord injury in a car accident several years ago; his wife organized a race, in part to help offset his ongoing medical expenses. The actual event happened too far away for us to participate, so we had instead registered anyway, and committed to doing our own "Remote 5K" in support of the cause. Thus we set off to a local trail to jog through the woods on a cool, breezy morning. We strapped the GPS watch to the fastest runner's wrist (you guessed it, that would naturally be Derek) and gave him a fabric "flag" to attach to a tree when he reached 1.55 miles, as a signal to the rest of us to turn around at the halfway point. Derek was soon a blazing orange blur in the distance, I maintained my usual steady but by no means what you'd call "zippy" pace in the middle of our family pack, and Husband very kindly stuck with Riley to allow him walking breaks when necessary. At the conclusion of the loop, Derek had taken about 27 minutes (he confessed he'd had to stop twice...to retie his shoes...); I finished second in about 29; and the Dynamic Duo chugged in at 33-ish minutes.
Having indisputably earned our next meal, we continued the festivities by honoring Derek's Birthday Lunch selection: Panera...and Baskin Robbins thrown in for good measure. (He DID win the household NCAA pool as well, so ice cream seemed as appropriate a reward as any...) Then I had to dash off for a pedicure (a pampering treatment I never, ever do, but I was invited by some girlfriends, so what the heck?) and the boys returned home...to indulge in their allotted video game time. Then for the Grand Finale: I spent an hour or so talking to a representative from the cell phone company, attempting to successfully effect a three-way-switch (my number transferred to a new device; Husband's number moved to my phone; brand new digits assigned to Husband's old phone for Derek to use. Confused? Me toooooo...)Then of course a mandatory Tutoring Session ensued, as Husband was somewhat daunted transitioning from an..."intelligence-deprived" model...to an actual "smartphone". In the midst of my providing detailed, step-by-step demonstrations for him on such topics as "linking to an email account", "storing contact information", and "operating the navigation app", I suddenly noticed that he appeared a bit forlorn. I paused, mid-lecture, to determine what was wrong. "How do I answer it when it rings?" he plaintively asked. (Sigh...) Meanwhile Derek was busy recording his voicemail greeting, which says something along the lines of "I can't answer the phone right now...'cuz I'm being eaten by a dinosaur!" (Totally not making that up. Just another example of teenagers corrupting technology for their own nefarious purposes, I tell ya...although exactly what those purposes may be, I admit to having NO idea...)
Soooo, with weary bodies and apparently overly-full brains, we bring the weekend to a close. Bedtime looms, and not a moment too soon. I can only hope that for some of us (ME ME ME) coffee proves an effective antidote to the Dreaded Monday Syndrome...is it the weekend again yet?
Friday, April 12, 2013
More fun than a barrel full of...never mind...
Fresh from a yoga session, (or, if we're being honest, here...actually more like "slightly-damp-and-mildly-rumpled", but whatever...) I usually make a valiant attempt to carry the spirit of om and namaste and all that...zen-y...stuff...away from the studio and out into the world at large. That is, if I even remember my noble goal, after I've rolled up and stowed my mat, re-clothed myself with discarded socks and shoes and jacket, and briskly marched to my car. Let's face it, by that time (approximately all-of-2-minutes past the conclusion of our practice) my mind is already skittering ahead to the next item on the agenda...which is generally known as "lunch". Okay, okay, you've forced me to confess that as soon as the class becomes the teensiest bit challenging (most Fridays, this occurs no more than 5 minutes into the 75 minute stretch, but who's counting? Oh right: that would be ME) I motivate myself by planning where I'm going to eat when it's over. Hey, it's sort of contemplative...in its own way...right? (Yeah, I didn't think so either. Oh well...)
Speaking of which, mediation tends to be recommended as an enriching, peaceful, healthy activity...which occasionally I consider trying to master. Then my inner Reality Girl snorts derisively while metaphorically slapping me upside the head at the very idea that I could sit quietly, focus on my breathing, and banish all intrusive, attention-hogging thought-tornadoes for an extended period of time. (Wait, do naps count? 'Cuz I absolutely ROCK at those! No? Darn it...) The instructor this morning owned up to having her own case of "jumping thoughts" and identified it--in what I'm sure is 100% official Ancient Yoga Terminology--as (are you ready for this?) Monkey Brain. L-O-V-E it! So cute! So descriptive--like a monkey swinging from branch to branch, grabbing fruit, or chasing their playmates, or whatever silly primates do in their spare time. And that might just describe me a smidge...or a lot.
To illustrate, here's just a sample of what popped up randomly in my whirling cranium while I was supposed to be calm and centered on nothing but my body's flowing movements: "Hmm, should I go to CalTort today? I'm in the mood for a salad"; "My palms are sweaty" (in my defense, I'll bet this occurred to everyone, as the room was unusually warm and humid due to the rainy weather outside); "No way, lady--that twisty pose is NOT gonna happen unless my limbs magically become a heck of a lot more bendy in the next several seconds" (I'm always grateful when these kinds of statements remain inside my head...unless the teacher is telepathic, I'm safe...and she didn't glare at me, so I'll assume it's all good...); "I wonder if this would be an okay time to take a break and blow my nose, because if I don't, I'm afraid it's going to drip on my mat" (and of course the related "Stupid! Pollen!"); "Wow, that person next to me can tie herself up like a pretzel! Impressed...also more than a little bit jealous...". And finally, during the winding-down of the practice, supposedly the point when the superfluous "junk" has been cleansed from your physical and mental being: "Ooh, I love this song! I haven't heard it in such a long time. I forget who the artist is, but I'm pretty sure we have it on CD somewhere at home. I'd like to look for it later and play the whole thing"...and then I proceeded to croon the words in my head. Sigh...I. Am. Hopeless. (But I was completely relaxed, content, and entertained, so that counts as a successful yoga experience, yeah? Oh, and someone ELSE asked for the name of the singer. Van Morrison, in case you were wondering. Feel better? I know I did...)
So evidently I'm a terrible yogini, with minimal capability of reaching a trancelike state...but on the plus side, I'd been suffering an uncharacteristic case of Writer's Block for days now (so weird--usually I can be counted on for a whole lot of nonsensical rambling once I get started tapping on a keyboard) until the helpful monkey...in my brain...woke up and stirred the creative juices...or something like that. So I guess it's a positive thing? Ooh, that reminds me of the song by Peter Gabriel, Shock the Monkey...which we have in our CD collection...where we also store Van Morrison...gotta go! (Thanks, Monkey!)
Speaking of which, mediation tends to be recommended as an enriching, peaceful, healthy activity...which occasionally I consider trying to master. Then my inner Reality Girl snorts derisively while metaphorically slapping me upside the head at the very idea that I could sit quietly, focus on my breathing, and banish all intrusive, attention-hogging thought-tornadoes for an extended period of time. (Wait, do naps count? 'Cuz I absolutely ROCK at those! No? Darn it...) The instructor this morning owned up to having her own case of "jumping thoughts" and identified it--in what I'm sure is 100% official Ancient Yoga Terminology--as (are you ready for this?) Monkey Brain. L-O-V-E it! So cute! So descriptive--like a monkey swinging from branch to branch, grabbing fruit, or chasing their playmates, or whatever silly primates do in their spare time. And that might just describe me a smidge...or a lot.
To illustrate, here's just a sample of what popped up randomly in my whirling cranium while I was supposed to be calm and centered on nothing but my body's flowing movements: "Hmm, should I go to CalTort today? I'm in the mood for a salad"; "My palms are sweaty" (in my defense, I'll bet this occurred to everyone, as the room was unusually warm and humid due to the rainy weather outside); "No way, lady--that twisty pose is NOT gonna happen unless my limbs magically become a heck of a lot more bendy in the next several seconds" (I'm always grateful when these kinds of statements remain inside my head...unless the teacher is telepathic, I'm safe...and she didn't glare at me, so I'll assume it's all good...); "I wonder if this would be an okay time to take a break and blow my nose, because if I don't, I'm afraid it's going to drip on my mat" (and of course the related "Stupid! Pollen!"); "Wow, that person next to me can tie herself up like a pretzel! Impressed...also more than a little bit jealous...". And finally, during the winding-down of the practice, supposedly the point when the superfluous "junk" has been cleansed from your physical and mental being: "Ooh, I love this song! I haven't heard it in such a long time. I forget who the artist is, but I'm pretty sure we have it on CD somewhere at home. I'd like to look for it later and play the whole thing"...and then I proceeded to croon the words in my head. Sigh...I. Am. Hopeless. (But I was completely relaxed, content, and entertained, so that counts as a successful yoga experience, yeah? Oh, and someone ELSE asked for the name of the singer. Van Morrison, in case you were wondering. Feel better? I know I did...)
So evidently I'm a terrible yogini, with minimal capability of reaching a trancelike state...but on the plus side, I'd been suffering an uncharacteristic case of Writer's Block for days now (so weird--usually I can be counted on for a whole lot of nonsensical rambling once I get started tapping on a keyboard) until the helpful monkey...in my brain...woke up and stirred the creative juices...or something like that. So I guess it's a positive thing? Ooh, that reminds me of the song by Peter Gabriel, Shock the Monkey...which we have in our CD collection...where we also store Van Morrison...gotta go! (Thanks, Monkey!)
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Spring Fling
It seems that Mother Nature may have finally paid heed to all of the furious diatribes--I mean "gently-worded and ever-so-politely-offered...constructive suggestions"--and delivered us from Winter at last. (And can I just say: it's about time, Lady! With all due respect, of course...) In the past few days, we've gone straight from starved-for-Spring...to sneezy. That's right, it's one of the surest signs that the season of renewal has arrived--accompanied in our house by a sudden depletion of the tissue stash. Other harbingers of things to come:
--Coats, hats, and gloves have been washed and stored away. Okay, this doesn't really count, since my children never deign to wear anything heavier than a hoodie anyway, unless it's actually snowing...on their heads...at the time. And I defiantly laundered my outerwear several weeks ago, when it was still sub-freezing, and chose to suffer the chill and wind rather than bundle up again. Because extra layers are annoying. And I'm just that stubborn.
--Wildlife: birds merrily chirping outside my window. (Unnecessarily early in the morning, in my opinion, but what can you do?) Fox puppies cautiously emerging from their den, behind our property. Fawns delicately nibbling grass in the backyard (and eying the foxes suspiciously...ooh, a Battle for Lawn Supremacy could be brewing, right here on our own personal Nature Channel!)
--Soccer Saturdays have returned. Of course, it was 40 fun-loving degrees for Riley's morning game yesterday. (But I held firm and left my coat at home, yes sirree...and survived with only a long-sleeved athletic shirt...a sweatshirt...and a fleece sweater...) In fact, there's going to be a whole LOTTA kicking it up this season. This week alone, the schedule goes as follows: Monday, both boys practice with their rec-league teams; Tuesday, Derek has a game with his school team; Wednesday, Derek has practice with his school team; Thursday, both boys have rec-league practice; Friday, NOTHING (did you hear the implied "hallelujah"?); then games again on Saturday. Holy running-around-like-crazy-people, Batman, it's gonna be a frenetic...2 months!
--Bonus Outdoor Fun Time: so the boys played their little...patooties...off yesterday in their respective matches, and Husband and I both took advantage of the afternoon warming trend to go running. Needless to say, everyone woke up today with a case of tired legs. But the forecast was too favorable to waste the day admiring the sunshine from inside, so the Family Activities Board (a.k.a. "Mom and Dad"...but did you notice my acronym spells FAB? Yeah, that was on purpose. I might need a tee-shirt...where was I? Oh, right...) pitched the idea of a "nice, leisurely walk" to the constituents...I mean "sons". There was instantaneous groaning. And protesting. Even a bit of dramatic clutching of blankets, and declaring that they were "much too worn out to go". But, I promised them a paved, fairly flat trail...and lunch at the end...if they agreed to the plan. You guessed it, they perked right up at the mention of food. So we strolled, and chatted; and even though I still piled on three shirts against the somewhat-nippy breeze...at least my hands weren't numb? (I'll take it, for now!)
To sum up: we here at Team WestEnders are brimming with hope that this welcome trend continues, and that we can enjoy the fresh air, mild temperatures, and outside pursuits for some time to come...but we'll certainly try to remember to bring extra tissues along, just in case...
--Coats, hats, and gloves have been washed and stored away. Okay, this doesn't really count, since my children never deign to wear anything heavier than a hoodie anyway, unless it's actually snowing...on their heads...at the time. And I defiantly laundered my outerwear several weeks ago, when it was still sub-freezing, and chose to suffer the chill and wind rather than bundle up again. Because extra layers are annoying. And I'm just that stubborn.
--Wildlife: birds merrily chirping outside my window. (Unnecessarily early in the morning, in my opinion, but what can you do?) Fox puppies cautiously emerging from their den, behind our property. Fawns delicately nibbling grass in the backyard (and eying the foxes suspiciously...ooh, a Battle for Lawn Supremacy could be brewing, right here on our own personal Nature Channel!)
--Soccer Saturdays have returned. Of course, it was 40 fun-loving degrees for Riley's morning game yesterday. (But I held firm and left my coat at home, yes sirree...and survived with only a long-sleeved athletic shirt...a sweatshirt...and a fleece sweater...) In fact, there's going to be a whole LOTTA kicking it up this season. This week alone, the schedule goes as follows: Monday, both boys practice with their rec-league teams; Tuesday, Derek has a game with his school team; Wednesday, Derek has practice with his school team; Thursday, both boys have rec-league practice; Friday, NOTHING (did you hear the implied "hallelujah"?); then games again on Saturday. Holy running-around-like-crazy-people, Batman, it's gonna be a frenetic...2 months!
--Bonus Outdoor Fun Time: so the boys played their little...patooties...off yesterday in their respective matches, and Husband and I both took advantage of the afternoon warming trend to go running. Needless to say, everyone woke up today with a case of tired legs. But the forecast was too favorable to waste the day admiring the sunshine from inside, so the Family Activities Board (a.k.a. "Mom and Dad"...but did you notice my acronym spells FAB? Yeah, that was on purpose. I might need a tee-shirt...where was I? Oh, right...) pitched the idea of a "nice, leisurely walk" to the constituents...I mean "sons". There was instantaneous groaning. And protesting. Even a bit of dramatic clutching of blankets, and declaring that they were "much too worn out to go". But, I promised them a paved, fairly flat trail...and lunch at the end...if they agreed to the plan. You guessed it, they perked right up at the mention of food. So we strolled, and chatted; and even though I still piled on three shirts against the somewhat-nippy breeze...at least my hands weren't numb? (I'll take it, for now!)
To sum up: we here at Team WestEnders are brimming with hope that this welcome trend continues, and that we can enjoy the fresh air, mild temperatures, and outside pursuits for some time to come...but we'll certainly try to remember to bring extra tissues along, just in case...
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