The past week or so has left me feeling nostalgic (okay, not quite entirely, but...almost) for those simple byegone days of...Elementary School. You know what I'm talking about: when one academic year came to a close with little or no fanfare, and you enjoyed your time off in the Summer, and things just picked right back up again in September automatically. There were no "Graduation Requirements" to review...or "Course Selections" to research...or any other such confusing and exasperating...nonsense.
But the (much anticipated and welcomed) arrival of Spring brought (the far less popular) Registration Time along with it. Even with some misgivings as to how complicated it might be for us relative newbies, the process began smoothly. In fact Riley's Middle School procedure was completely painless, and required approximately 10 minutes of our precious time. Most of his standard classes are pre-designated anyway, and he has a limited number of options for his open slots. He merely had to number them in order of his favorites, and hope he gets his top 4 choices. Easy peasy.
Then...there was that whole High School shebang for future-Sophomore Derek. He brought home an innocuous pink paper (to give you cheerful, relaxed vibes, I'm sure...didn't work...) with a couple of lines already pre-filled. Seemed like an auspicious start--the English and Social Studies trajectories apparently follow some sort of pattern up to 10th grade. Just check the appropriate box for Regular or Honors, and you're done. Whew! But from there it gets a whole lot...murkier. For example, we didn't really have a clue what to put down for Math or Science. After wracking our collective brains for a moment or two, I sagely advised him to "Ask your teachers." (Yeah, yeah, admittedly "making it up as I went along"...but in fact this turned out to be what the counselors wanted you to do anyway. Yay, Mom! I mean, "Sure, I totally knew that!")
Once he got those recommendations, his Core Curriculum was set. Now it was time to focus on filling out the rest of his day with electives. But wait--you can't just pick stuff out of the online catalog...willy nilly! There are rules! You must accumulate a certain number of several different types of classes, to fulfill the requirements for obtaining a North Carolina diploma. Oh-kaaaay. So you need Art of some kind. And something called...CTE. What the hairy HECK is a CTE? Oh, Career and Technical Education--this encompasses things like health sciences, business and marketing skills, what used to be called Home Ec but is now referred to as Family and Consumer Sciences, and a whole lotta...computer...stuff.
Ay yi yi. Where does one even begin to decide what to commit to, with the overwhelming load of information available? Oh, right...with one's friends, of course. (Parent Duh!) Derek assured me that he'd quiz his Bus Stop Boys on what they'd tried, what they'd liked, what they were thinking about signing up for next year...etc. And believe it or not, he came home with a surprising wealth of...actually helpful details. So we jotted down a few choices--in pencil--for him to discuss during his brief face-to-face meeting with his counselor, at which time they would finalize the whole thing and enter it into the computer database (That's right: marking it down on your dreaded Permanent Record! Aaaargh! Choose wisely, young Jedi! Sorry...I was just caught up in the stress of it all for a moment there...I'm better now...)
After all this rigmarole...and the day before Derek was due to turn in the sheet...the Parent Information Meeting was finally held. (I know, right? Suuuuper timing! Just kidding--in all fairness, it was canceled and rescheduled several times by the Two Week Winter Event we experienced in February.) But if my brain wasn't already full enough before this little get-together...this put me right over the top. We heard about changes to the grading scale, (Yaaaaayyyy!) and the "weighting scale", (Whatever...I confess I didn't really understand this part so well....). Also they explained Virtual School classes, and the Dual Enrollment Program...and a long list of other topics that thankfully fall under the heading of "Important Stuff...I Can Figure Out at a Later Date".
Wow. All I can say is "I'm certainly glad I didn't blow off this meeting!" When I came home and relayed all of the pertinent facts to Derek, we finished his worksheet as fully as we could. I attached multiple sticky notes to it with the questions I wanted him to address with his counselor (the most burning of these being "Is it reaaalllly okay to take a Study Period again as a 10th Grader? Or is that discouraged as, you know, "Being an unmotivated Slacker, rather than a suitably Dedicated Student"?). Then I sent him off with a wave and a hearty "Good luck, honey!" And I suppose it went well, because he came home reporting that it was all over with, his selections were accepted...and she assured him there's no problem whatsoever with using another Study Period to round out your schedule.
Well, that's a relief. Now we can just relax, without worrying about this for a whole 'nother year. And on the further Bright Side, by the time Riley gets to High School, we'll probably be able to do this with our eyes closed...um, with one hand tied behind our backs? How about: without having to go to the Parent Meeting! I'll settle for that...
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Somewhat of a logistical nightmare...
If my life this week were an episode of Sesame Street—and it does feel that way, what with the…furry monsters…and schoolwork…and whatnot—the
special word of the week would definitely be “SCHEDULE”. As in “that thing which rules my life”. Or “the item which is absolutely necessary for the sanity of a
Household Manager who prefers to run a tight ship”. However, in this particular case, it also refers to “something that is being messed with by outside forces, who obviously don’t
have the same….compulsion….I do, and who are currently ruining my carefully organized schemes with their
lack of decision making, and/or communication. (What? Doesn’t
everyone make detailed To-Do Lists, and cross things off, and rewrite or
reorder the tasks—sometimes several times in a single day—to more accurately
reflect what might actually get accomplished? Isn’t this totally normal,
average behavior? Yeah, I know…just humor me, will ya?)
Here's the scenario: of course I wanted all of us on Team WestEnders to
jump into life in North Carolina, and pursue interesting activities and new
friends. The boys joined soccer teams
pretty much immediately, and so gained access to their own little sports
fraternities. Then it was my turn to go in search of entertainment, and I found
the walking enthusiasts…the hiking club…the Spanish group…the ASL
conversationalists…and a dance class. (Because, hey, why not fill every spare
minute? I just don’t do boredom very well…) Finally, Husband decided that things
were settled enough (ha!) to sign up for an adult soccer league, so he’s
playing this Spring as well.
And believe it or not, all of this…hoopla…is perfectly
manageable…as long as we have all of the required information to fill out the
Master Calendar and plan properly. That’s where we’re experiencing some…let's call it "not-our-fault
difficulty"…at the moment. You see, Derek has been practicing with his team
since December, and we always know what day, time, and venue. We even have his
games penciled in (mostly…more on that a bit later). The issue is that we don’t have Riley’s team’s
schedule for matches yet—including the one that’s supposedly happening this
weekend. (Yeah, that would be in 2 days...and counting down…)
This means that some days fall into the category of
Crazy-But-Doable, like this evening, when Derek and Riley each had practice starting
at 5:00, but at 2 separate fields, while Husband’s team was meeting at 6:00,
somewhere else entirely. So, I dropped Derek off early, shuttled Riley to his
field (a few minutes late, but whatever), waited for him to finish, then swung
back around to pick up Derek (15 minutes after his session ended, but what can
you do? Without some cool space-age technology, that is…Memo to Me: gotta find
a Transporter…Thingie…like on Star Trek…) Then I raced them home—um “drove slowly
and safely, obeying all traffic laws”…ish—shoved dinner (which I’d assembled
earlier—yay, me) at them, and called over my shoulder as I breezed out the door
to go get my Cardio Funk on, “Bye, guys! Dad should be home in about 10
minutes!”
And keep in mind: that’s the part we can actually handle with…relative…ease.
Tomorrow night, Derek has a game in Raleigh, which Husband offered to cover,
since it might be cold and rainy. (Thanks, dear!) From there, it gets...downright silly.
Saturday morning I’m supposed to get together for my weekly walk with my
fitness buddies at 10 a.m. Derek originally had a match scheduled for 3:00 in
another town about 30 minutes away, (here we go) which conflicted with Husband’s
contest (nearby) at 3:40. No worries—I’d be done long before then, and would simply get Derek to and from his game.
But TODAY for some reason, the time
was changed to 11 a.m. So I can either
stroll with my pals, or see my son play. Dang it! Worse: since the
promised email about Riley’s theoretical game hasn’t arrived, we STILL have no
idea if it’ll be Saturday or Sunday…morning or afternoon….close by or at some
distant location…all of which prevents me from RSVPing to the Sunday 1 p.m. hiking trip
that I wanted to attend. Ohhh, and lest I forget, the weather is predicted to
possibly continue with general drizzly yuckiness into Saturday morning, so
Derek’s match, which takes place on a grass pitch, could be canceled. But...my
walkers will just move into the mall that’s conveniently adjacent to the trail. (Uh
huh, how’s that for inspired? Meander, chat, window shop…stop for coffee…)
Is your head spinning? ‘Cuz mine feels like it’s on a
merry-go-round…and not the fun kind, either. I’m serious—I need a flow chart…or
a Venn diagram…or some such nonsense….to keep all of this straight. Hmm....and possibly an extra Family Chauffeur...and some of that java I mentioned earlier. I don't know about you, but I'm just gonna keep my fingers crossed that everyone arrives at the right place at the correct time--or thereabouts. And if we all make it home for dinner, I'll definitely call it a big old WIN!
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Signs (signs, everywhere the signs)
With all the chaos that has ensued from an unexpected "Winter Break...The Sequel" my brain has--not surprisingly--been a bit befuddled...and scattered...lately. (What day is it? Where am I going? Whaddya mean the kids are staying home AGAIN?) So, befitting my mental state, here are some random things I've noticed in the past week:
Signs That Our 2-week Winterlude Might be Good...And...O-V-E-R. (I'm sorry, excuse me whilst I knock wood...throw salt over my shoulder...attempt to type with crossed fingers...): The last vestiges of crusty snow have been vanquished from yards and parking lots. The precipitation a few days ago that was supposed to change over to sleet...didn't...giving us a more Spring-like day of torrential rain instead. And the boys were outside earlier in shorts and tee shirts on this 70* Sunday, throwing a baseball around...that is, until they paused for lunch...which they're currently enjoying alfresco on the screened-in porch.
On a related note, Signs That the Children Might Have Joined Me in the Anti-Winter Club: We had a delightful balmy day this past Wednesday, and when Derek returned home from school he reported in an exasperated tone, "All anyone wanted to talk about was 'I wish it was cold; I want snow!' And I was like, 'Guys, we HAD snow--it's not all that great. I'll take this kind of weather for the rest of the year!'" (This from the kid who whined a couple of months ago that I'd forced him to relocate to a place where he'd never see the frozen white stuff again...) Then when that icy mix was forecast for Thursday night, BOTH of them reacted with ear-splitting groans, followed by these words actually issuing from their mouths: "No! School better not be closed! I hope it's just a 2-hour delay." (Apparently a 14-day frigid season is just about enough for them, too...who knew?)
Signs That Derek is Getting (Even More) Comfortable in his New Hometown: Last night he was invited over to a friend's house around the corner for pizza...and to watch UNC take on Duke in a massive local rivalry game. (And can I just take a second to commend--and sincerely thank--the parents who welcomed seven 15-year old boys into their home...and FED them! Saints, I tell ya...) Now, being former Maryland residents, we have always supported the Terps. However, since they switched conferences, we are free--and have a clear conscience--to also root for the school that's situated approximately 3 miles from our front door. (Just as long as they're playing anyone besides UMD, it goes without saying...) What we shall N-E-V-E-R do...is rally behind that other university in Durham. So when I was lamenting that the contest started at 9, and Derek would get to bed pretty late, he fervently argued, "Mom, it was your idea to move here, to a college town, and this is a a huge game. So I have to stay...for the whole thing...that's just how it is!" Well. Alrighty then...Go, 'Heels!
Signs I (Fortunately) Haven't Forgotten Everything I Ever Learned: After last week's awesomely fun Spanish experience, this week it was time to shift gears and try the ASL group. While "group" turned out to be a misnomer (only the founding member showed up for this particular meeting) it was nice to "chat" with someone and to reassure myself I can, indeed, still sign after 10 months of not using it. (Next week: Swahili! Just kidding...)
And finally, (Further) Signs That My Baby is Officially Growing Up (I mean, besides the obvious fact that he's almost taller than me by this point): Just when I was convinced that Riley would most likely maintain his stuffed animal collection--oh, I don't know...until he went to college, maybe?--he decided of his own volition to whittle it down by just-over-a-third. (Couched in purposefully Riley-precise terms, you'll notice...) Mind you, I'm not suggesting that I'm opposed to him clearing out some clutter...ever. But it seems like every day he becomes just a little bit less...childlike...and a wee bit more...like a little man. (Okay, not so "little", but you know what I mean...) So we'll find someplace that will provide the creatures with nice homes and new children to love them. And I will continue to live in blissful denial about how much my sons are changing...yeah, that should work out fine, right? Sigh...
So there you have it, the contents of my Weekly Brain Purge. I feel so much...more organized! But then again...not enough to actually, you know, try to accomplish anything. Hey, we lost an hour of sleep last night, so the Signs point to it being time for...a nap!
Signs That Our 2-week Winterlude Might be Good...And...O-V-E-R. (I'm sorry, excuse me whilst I knock wood...throw salt over my shoulder...attempt to type with crossed fingers...): The last vestiges of crusty snow have been vanquished from yards and parking lots. The precipitation a few days ago that was supposed to change over to sleet...didn't...giving us a more Spring-like day of torrential rain instead. And the boys were outside earlier in shorts and tee shirts on this 70* Sunday, throwing a baseball around...that is, until they paused for lunch...which they're currently enjoying alfresco on the screened-in porch.
On a related note, Signs That the Children Might Have Joined Me in the Anti-Winter Club: We had a delightful balmy day this past Wednesday, and when Derek returned home from school he reported in an exasperated tone, "All anyone wanted to talk about was 'I wish it was cold; I want snow!' And I was like, 'Guys, we HAD snow--it's not all that great. I'll take this kind of weather for the rest of the year!'" (This from the kid who whined a couple of months ago that I'd forced him to relocate to a place where he'd never see the frozen white stuff again...) Then when that icy mix was forecast for Thursday night, BOTH of them reacted with ear-splitting groans, followed by these words actually issuing from their mouths: "No! School better not be closed! I hope it's just a 2-hour delay." (Apparently a 14-day frigid season is just about enough for them, too...who knew?)
Signs That Derek is Getting (Even More) Comfortable in his New Hometown: Last night he was invited over to a friend's house around the corner for pizza...and to watch UNC take on Duke in a massive local rivalry game. (And can I just take a second to commend--and sincerely thank--the parents who welcomed seven 15-year old boys into their home...and FED them! Saints, I tell ya...) Now, being former Maryland residents, we have always supported the Terps. However, since they switched conferences, we are free--and have a clear conscience--to also root for the school that's situated approximately 3 miles from our front door. (Just as long as they're playing anyone besides UMD, it goes without saying...) What we shall N-E-V-E-R do...is rally behind that other university in Durham. So when I was lamenting that the contest started at 9, and Derek would get to bed pretty late, he fervently argued, "Mom, it was your idea to move here, to a college town, and this is a a huge game. So I have to stay...for the whole thing...that's just how it is!" Well. Alrighty then...Go, 'Heels!
Signs I (Fortunately) Haven't Forgotten Everything I Ever Learned: After last week's awesomely fun Spanish experience, this week it was time to shift gears and try the ASL group. While "group" turned out to be a misnomer (only the founding member showed up for this particular meeting) it was nice to "chat" with someone and to reassure myself I can, indeed, still sign after 10 months of not using it. (Next week: Swahili! Just kidding...)
And finally, (Further) Signs That My Baby is Officially Growing Up (I mean, besides the obvious fact that he's almost taller than me by this point): Just when I was convinced that Riley would most likely maintain his stuffed animal collection--oh, I don't know...until he went to college, maybe?--he decided of his own volition to whittle it down by just-over-a-third. (Couched in purposefully Riley-precise terms, you'll notice...) Mind you, I'm not suggesting that I'm opposed to him clearing out some clutter...ever. But it seems like every day he becomes just a little bit less...childlike...and a wee bit more...like a little man. (Okay, not so "little", but you know what I mean...) So we'll find someplace that will provide the creatures with nice homes and new children to love them. And I will continue to live in blissful denial about how much my sons are changing...yeah, that should work out fine, right? Sigh...
So there you have it, the contents of my Weekly Brain Purge. I feel so much...more organized! But then again...not enough to actually, you know, try to accomplish anything. Hey, we lost an hour of sleep last night, so the Signs point to it being time for...a nap!
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Vamos! (But...not quite yet...)
Each year, sometime in the Dead of Winter (a very unpopular subset of the cold season), I initiate the planning for our WestEnders Summer Vacation. On the upside, this gives me something exciting to do when it's still frigid and dreary outside in our little corner of the world. On the other hand, once all the details of the fun are figured out...it means 5 or 6 months of breathless anticipation as we bide our time until we embark on our adventure. This year we're picking up a notion that was originally supposed to happen in 2014--until it was supplanted by the un-postpone-able Move to NC, which kind of commandeered all of our available resources at the time. (Hey, we got to go somewhere, and explore a new place...as far as vacation parameters, it sort of counts, right? Yeah, the kids didn't think so, either...)
So, where are we thinking of traveling to in the Summer of 2015? The lovely Central American country of: Costa Rica. This has actually loooong been on Husband's and my list of Must-See Locales. We're excited to visit a rainforest--with all of its fascinating creatures and greenery--firsthand, and I'm keen to view a volcano (from a safe distance...as recommended by the trusty Tour Guide, of course). Throw in the possibility of a beach, and you have 4 potentially verrrry happy campers. (Metaphorically, that is...without the actual, you know, "camping"...uh-uh, give me a resort, baby....this is my once-a-year escape from my regular life, after all...but I digress...)
Usually my first step is to sit down with my laptop and commence researching. I aim to learn what I can about our destination and get as much information as possible about logistics, before I take all my data in to the local AAA office and consult with one of their experts to pin down the nitty gritty. This worked just fine and dandy for past getaways to Disney World, Mexico, and the Bahamas (via cruise ship)...however, I quickly became aware when delving into Costa Rica...that I have abso-freakin'-lutely NO prior knowledge about this country. For example, I didn't know what region we should focus on...or which airport to fly into...or where to stay in order to best access the sites and activities that most interested us. The depth of my ignorance was, frankly, overwhelming.
At the end of my semi-fruitless Googling session, I at least had a couple of maps to print, and a vague idea of perhaps where I instinctively thought maybe we should steer toward. (How's that for...non-specific?) What to do next? Only the obvious: go see an actual Travel Specialist, throw all of my questions and requirements at him or her, and humbly accept the assistance I so dearly needed. Thus I told Mr. D what we wanted to do and see....and made sure to emphasize that for this particular trip, with 2 adolescent boys in tow, an all-inclusive option was absolutely essential. (Otherwise, we've discovered from past travels, "relax and have fun" has a distressing tendency to translate loosely into "Oh, it's been 2 hours already? Time to feed the ravenous children....AGAIN...")
As it turns out, my gut was not wrong about the area that would be best for our first foray into Costa Rica: the region called Guanacaste. There's much to recommend it, including a rainforest, a river, an active volcano...and a Pacific coastline with a plethora of beaches. (They're speaking my language--in either English OR Spanish, I'll take it!) The burning question (no pun intended...this time...) was whether we preferred to locate our Home Base at the shore, or closer to the volcano--but either one we chose, we could take day trips to the other. Knowing my family as I do, I had a clear idea what the consensus would be, but I put that query on hold until a Family Meeting at dinnertime, when I could present my research, bring everyone up to speed, and make some crucial decisions as a team.
Well, would you look at that, progress has been made! At least I now have some intel on where to fly into (Liberia--just...not the one in Africa with the history of crazy dictators, thank goodness...), the identity and location of the volcano (Arenal...somewhere in the middle-ish of the region, 3 hours or so from the ocean), ideas for several excursions that sound entertaining, and the names of several nice hotels directly on the coast. Armed with all of this--and a shiny, colorful booklet with tons of pictures and descriptions for everyone to peruse--I approached Team WestEnders to share my findings. As expected, everyone voted to center our Costa Rican experience around the surf and sand. As Riley put it, "I don't want to sleep where the gigantic spiders are!" Hmm....point taken. Derek was equally adamant, but for less serious reasons: "The beach is where all the hot chicks will be!" (...he said with an enormous, cheesy grin...sigh...)
So it seems like now "all" we have to do is: select an all-inclusive hotel...reserve our airline tickets...pre-book the Arenal day trip, to make sure we get 4 of the limited spaces...oh, renew the boys' passports!...and then sit back in a holding pattern...until July. Are we there yet?
So, where are we thinking of traveling to in the Summer of 2015? The lovely Central American country of: Costa Rica. This has actually loooong been on Husband's and my list of Must-See Locales. We're excited to visit a rainforest--with all of its fascinating creatures and greenery--firsthand, and I'm keen to view a volcano (from a safe distance...as recommended by the trusty Tour Guide, of course). Throw in the possibility of a beach, and you have 4 potentially verrrry happy campers. (Metaphorically, that is...without the actual, you know, "camping"...uh-uh, give me a resort, baby....this is my once-a-year escape from my regular life, after all...but I digress...)
Usually my first step is to sit down with my laptop and commence researching. I aim to learn what I can about our destination and get as much information as possible about logistics, before I take all my data in to the local AAA office and consult with one of their experts to pin down the nitty gritty. This worked just fine and dandy for past getaways to Disney World, Mexico, and the Bahamas (via cruise ship)...however, I quickly became aware when delving into Costa Rica...that I have abso-freakin'-lutely NO prior knowledge about this country. For example, I didn't know what region we should focus on...or which airport to fly into...or where to stay in order to best access the sites and activities that most interested us. The depth of my ignorance was, frankly, overwhelming.
At the end of my semi-fruitless Googling session, I at least had a couple of maps to print, and a vague idea of perhaps where I instinctively thought maybe we should steer toward. (How's that for...non-specific?) What to do next? Only the obvious: go see an actual Travel Specialist, throw all of my questions and requirements at him or her, and humbly accept the assistance I so dearly needed. Thus I told Mr. D what we wanted to do and see....and made sure to emphasize that for this particular trip, with 2 adolescent boys in tow, an all-inclusive option was absolutely essential. (Otherwise, we've discovered from past travels, "relax and have fun" has a distressing tendency to translate loosely into "Oh, it's been 2 hours already? Time to feed the ravenous children....AGAIN...")
As it turns out, my gut was not wrong about the area that would be best for our first foray into Costa Rica: the region called Guanacaste. There's much to recommend it, including a rainforest, a river, an active volcano...and a Pacific coastline with a plethora of beaches. (They're speaking my language--in either English OR Spanish, I'll take it!) The burning question (no pun intended...this time...) was whether we preferred to locate our Home Base at the shore, or closer to the volcano--but either one we chose, we could take day trips to the other. Knowing my family as I do, I had a clear idea what the consensus would be, but I put that query on hold until a Family Meeting at dinnertime, when I could present my research, bring everyone up to speed, and make some crucial decisions as a team.
Well, would you look at that, progress has been made! At least I now have some intel on where to fly into (Liberia--just...not the one in Africa with the history of crazy dictators, thank goodness...), the identity and location of the volcano (Arenal...somewhere in the middle-ish of the region, 3 hours or so from the ocean), ideas for several excursions that sound entertaining, and the names of several nice hotels directly on the coast. Armed with all of this--and a shiny, colorful booklet with tons of pictures and descriptions for everyone to peruse--I approached Team WestEnders to share my findings. As expected, everyone voted to center our Costa Rican experience around the surf and sand. As Riley put it, "I don't want to sleep where the gigantic spiders are!" Hmm....point taken. Derek was equally adamant, but for less serious reasons: "The beach is where all the hot chicks will be!" (...he said with an enormous, cheesy grin...sigh...)
So it seems like now "all" we have to do is: select an all-inclusive hotel...reserve our airline tickets...pre-book the Arenal day trip, to make sure we get 4 of the limited spaces...oh, renew the boys' passports!...and then sit back in a holding pattern...until July. Are we there yet?
Friday, February 27, 2015
Una experiencia muy buena
I think it should be pretty obvious to anyone who's known me for more than, oh, 5 minutes or so, that I'm a totally geeky Lover of Languages. (Is there a word for that? Linguaphile? Did I just make that up? Hmm...and also, does that sound vaguely...sleazy...to anyone else? Hold on just a moment--nope, I went and looked it up, and that is, in fact, the correct term. Still sounds illicit...oh well. Now where was I? Oh yeah: it all began in high school, when I crammed Spanish 1-4 and an Independent Study into my four years. (Yes, it did involve a miraculous bending of the space/time continuum...or perhaps it was me becoming buddies with la profesora, and being allowed to work ahead at my own pace...whatever...) By the time I graduated and went on to college, I was thoroughly enamored with being able to communicate in another language...so I ended up taking enough electives to receive a Spanish minor along with my BA. (And also during my university tenure I picked up American Sign Language courses...because, you know...why not add another language...just for kicks?)
And then, all that good time academia and whatnot must inevitably come to a close, and they bounce you out into the Real World. English being my Mother Tongue (and stuff), I didn't have much of a chance to practice Espanol for several years, until I accepted a job in an elementary school that served a sizable percentage of Hispanic families. In this setting, I had some incredible opportunities--to participate in meetings that were conducted bilingually, and to interact with students, parents, and professionals in Spanish. However, when I left that position, I switched gears and began my next career...as an ASL interpreter. As you can guess, there was not a whole lot of call for el idioma espanol in this milieu...oh, except for the couple of times I interpreted Spanish classes for Deaf students. (Nope, don't even try to figure that out...suffice it to say, Interpreter's Head: BOOM!)
That brings us up to the present, (I know: finally, right?) In the past few years, I've gotten to use Spanish on vacation a couple of times, so I know it's still (mostly) in there. But I can feel it slowly slipping away, and this upsets me. On the one hand, I've bought textbooks (I'm sure this shocks...no one...) and tried completing written exercises, in an attempt to preserve at least some fluency. But that type of activity is, obviously, both boring...and contrived. Then when Derek began taking Spanish in 7th grade, at least I was able to help him study for tests, or answer homework questions. And that undoubtedly is satisfying and fun (again, for a language nerd, that is). But still...it's not enough. Actually, for years I've been thinking I need to find some kind of conversation group, where one could go and chat with other Spanish speakers in an informal, non-stress setting (You know, no quizzes...or being rejected if you make mistakes...even totally stupid ones...)
So earlier this week, I went to the same website where I'd discovered the local fitness groups I recently joined, did a quick search, and turned up just that very thing...AND they have their get-togethers at the library 10 minutes from my house. Me parece que es el destino, no? I was immediately jubilant...and also not-just-a-tiny-bit...paralyzed with terror. I signed up for the first meeting--which was happening a few days later--and spent the next approximately-48-hours in a state of sky-high anxiety. What if I really couldn't express myself in Spanish anymore, enough to keep up my end of a conversation? What if I made an absolute fool of myself? What if no one liked me, and they politely asked me never to return?
To complicate matters, I started getting emails from one of the group's founders, about the topic they'd covered the previous week, something about the consequences of the U.S. lifting the trade embargo against Cuba, blah blah blah. What? I don't even like to talk about political or economic issues in English, much less try to formulate coherent thoughts in my rusty Spanish. Yikes! Meanwhile, the rational side of my brain fortunately kept reminding me that the club was probably comprised of lovely, welcoming people who would do their best to help out a newcomer with self-confidence issues....and in this manner the day arrived at last.
And yes, it was utterly nervewracking to walk into a room full of strangers and try to maintain a social exchange in not-my-native-tongue. But it was also AWESOME to listen to those members--from a variety of Hispanic countries--who fluently, lyrically speak the gorgeous Spanish language. Also allaying my fears: there were other Americans, of varying skill levels. I strove to sit there quietly and unobtrusively, but it was unavoidable that--in a room with only 5 people--someone would ask me a question. As expected, my first nervous attempts to spit out complete sentences were...fumbling...and rife with errors. However, no one laughed...or ordered me to leave. (They offered gentle corrections, instead. Whew!) But I really knew I'd be fine when, a few minutes into the discussion, one of the moderators told a joke (a linguistic-based one, at that) and I GOT IT. I was ridiculously pleased...and relieved. After a while, this same lady offered to take whoever was interested off into a separate group, to do a (wait for it) grammar practice sheet! Yay!!! (I know, I know...)
Of course I joined this little band of rebels--um "scholars"--and we promptly got to work on the proper uses of ser and estar, haber and tener. (You'll just have to trust me--it was both informative...and enjoyable....) The best part--for me, anyway--was when there would be a question about why a certain answer was the right choice in a given situation. Now, our fearless leader is a bilingual native Puerto Rican. So of course she learned her Spanish the natural way. On the other hand, as a second-language learner, I spent countless hours in lectures, being instructed on the intricacies of grammar and usage. What I'm getting at is: I had to demonstrate understanding of the rules, in order to succeed at mastering the language....and receiving passing grades. (Yeah, yeah...and I love grammar, so sue me....)
Anyway, I saw our leader struggling to explain the reasons behind particular structures, while in my head a little voice was saying "it's a helping verb...verbo ayudante". I didn't want to be rude or pushy...but finally I just--respectfully...almost apologetically--interjected what I was thinking. She turned to me, let out a huge sigh of released tension, and said, "Gracias!" Since she hadn't seemed to mind my interference, I felt comfortable speaking up after that when I happened to know the grammatical rule that should be applied. After a while, she firmly stated, "You must come every week so you can do this!" Hmmm, let me see...Not. A. Problem.
So let's sum up, shall we? This whole Spanish Conversation Club was entertaining...and educational... now can I adopt the title of Grammar Police...in 2 language? (Bonus!)
And then, all that good time academia and whatnot must inevitably come to a close, and they bounce you out into the Real World. English being my Mother Tongue (and stuff), I didn't have much of a chance to practice Espanol for several years, until I accepted a job in an elementary school that served a sizable percentage of Hispanic families. In this setting, I had some incredible opportunities--to participate in meetings that were conducted bilingually, and to interact with students, parents, and professionals in Spanish. However, when I left that position, I switched gears and began my next career...as an ASL interpreter. As you can guess, there was not a whole lot of call for el idioma espanol in this milieu...oh, except for the couple of times I interpreted Spanish classes for Deaf students. (Nope, don't even try to figure that out...suffice it to say, Interpreter's Head: BOOM!)
That brings us up to the present, (I know: finally, right?) In the past few years, I've gotten to use Spanish on vacation a couple of times, so I know it's still (mostly) in there. But I can feel it slowly slipping away, and this upsets me. On the one hand, I've bought textbooks (I'm sure this shocks...no one...) and tried completing written exercises, in an attempt to preserve at least some fluency. But that type of activity is, obviously, both boring...and contrived. Then when Derek began taking Spanish in 7th grade, at least I was able to help him study for tests, or answer homework questions. And that undoubtedly is satisfying and fun (again, for a language nerd, that is). But still...it's not enough. Actually, for years I've been thinking I need to find some kind of conversation group, where one could go and chat with other Spanish speakers in an informal, non-stress setting (You know, no quizzes...or being rejected if you make mistakes...even totally stupid ones...)
So earlier this week, I went to the same website where I'd discovered the local fitness groups I recently joined, did a quick search, and turned up just that very thing...AND they have their get-togethers at the library 10 minutes from my house. Me parece que es el destino, no? I was immediately jubilant...and also not-just-a-tiny-bit...paralyzed with terror. I signed up for the first meeting--which was happening a few days later--and spent the next approximately-48-hours in a state of sky-high anxiety. What if I really couldn't express myself in Spanish anymore, enough to keep up my end of a conversation? What if I made an absolute fool of myself? What if no one liked me, and they politely asked me never to return?
To complicate matters, I started getting emails from one of the group's founders, about the topic they'd covered the previous week, something about the consequences of the U.S. lifting the trade embargo against Cuba, blah blah blah. What? I don't even like to talk about political or economic issues in English, much less try to formulate coherent thoughts in my rusty Spanish. Yikes! Meanwhile, the rational side of my brain fortunately kept reminding me that the club was probably comprised of lovely, welcoming people who would do their best to help out a newcomer with self-confidence issues....and in this manner the day arrived at last.
And yes, it was utterly nervewracking to walk into a room full of strangers and try to maintain a social exchange in not-my-native-tongue. But it was also AWESOME to listen to those members--from a variety of Hispanic countries--who fluently, lyrically speak the gorgeous Spanish language. Also allaying my fears: there were other Americans, of varying skill levels. I strove to sit there quietly and unobtrusively, but it was unavoidable that--in a room with only 5 people--someone would ask me a question. As expected, my first nervous attempts to spit out complete sentences were...fumbling...and rife with errors. However, no one laughed...or ordered me to leave. (They offered gentle corrections, instead. Whew!) But I really knew I'd be fine when, a few minutes into the discussion, one of the moderators told a joke (a linguistic-based one, at that) and I GOT IT. I was ridiculously pleased...and relieved. After a while, this same lady offered to take whoever was interested off into a separate group, to do a (wait for it) grammar practice sheet! Yay!!! (I know, I know...)
Of course I joined this little band of rebels--um "scholars"--and we promptly got to work on the proper uses of ser and estar, haber and tener. (You'll just have to trust me--it was both informative...and enjoyable....) The best part--for me, anyway--was when there would be a question about why a certain answer was the right choice in a given situation. Now, our fearless leader is a bilingual native Puerto Rican. So of course she learned her Spanish the natural way. On the other hand, as a second-language learner, I spent countless hours in lectures, being instructed on the intricacies of grammar and usage. What I'm getting at is: I had to demonstrate understanding of the rules, in order to succeed at mastering the language....and receiving passing grades. (Yeah, yeah...and I love grammar, so sue me....)
Anyway, I saw our leader struggling to explain the reasons behind particular structures, while in my head a little voice was saying "it's a helping verb...verbo ayudante". I didn't want to be rude or pushy...but finally I just--respectfully...almost apologetically--interjected what I was thinking. She turned to me, let out a huge sigh of released tension, and said, "Gracias!" Since she hadn't seemed to mind my interference, I felt comfortable speaking up after that when I happened to know the grammatical rule that should be applied. After a while, she firmly stated, "You must come every week so you can do this!" Hmmm, let me see...Not. A. Problem.
So let's sum up, shall we? This whole Spanish Conversation Club was entertaining...and educational... now can I adopt the title of Grammar Police...in 2 language? (Bonus!)
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Winter weirdness continues...
Okay, now this is just getting...silly. As transplanted North Carolinians, we were told to expect most days to be pretty nice during...that season between Fall and Spring. There are definitely cold snaps, but they tend to be short-lived. The dreaded wintry precipitation didn't actually make an appearance until recently, when it arrived with a....well, "vengeance" is much too strong a word (especially when reading the daily Horror Reports--I mean "Weather Forecasts" from places like Boston and Syracuse...shudder)...perhaps "tantrum" better describes it.
The festivities kicked off last week, with the infamous Quarter-Inch-of-Ice Event...which closed schools from Tuesday through Friday. (Yes, you read that correctly...still scratching my head over it.) Apparently we were meant to wait patiently (yeah...have they even met me?) for Mother Nature to work her...solar magic, or something...and melt the sidewalks and parking lots...without chemical assistance, which presumably isn't in the Southland Municipal Budget. (Oh, and incidentally, the Powers That Be still haven't quite decided how to make up the missed days--there's talk about having to attend on Memorial Day, which they did last year, or cutting into Spring Break, or....well, I'll save the last possibility for a surprise a bit later on...stay tuned...)
Well, at looooong last, the students went back to their academic institutions yesterday--whoo hoo! With things seemingly returning to normal, it didn't even occur to me to check my good pal NOAA for an update...so imagine my shock (and dismay, I'm not gonna lie) when I opened the curtains this morning and saw...white crystals floating down from the sky. Husband--who does, in fact, almost obsessively stay tuned in to his preferred site, weather.com--informed us that we should expect 1-2 inches. Huh. Well, that's interesting, I suppose, but we'd better get on with our day, right? Hahahahaha! You must be thinking like a...stoic...Winter-jaded...Northerner! No sooner had Riley packed up his stuff, met his friend at the bottom of the driveway, and begun trudging up the street towards school, when Husband's phone jingled cheerfully...to helpfully let us know that there would be a 2-hour delay...FOR HIGH SCHOOLS.
That's right, everyone else was either already in their seats (Elementary) or en route (Middle), but the adolescent slackers--I mean "teenage scholars"--got to lounge around for another couple of hours. (Derek was, as expected, thoroughly delighted with this bizarre turn of events. As for Riley, at least he has a good story: "When I was a kid, I had to walk a mile...uphill...in the snow...to get to school! Well...at least that one time, anyway....") But wait, there's more! As the gentle flakes continued to flutter down benignly from the heavens, another message came in...you guessed it, they gave up entirely, and cancelled school...for the 9th-12th graders. If you can believe that nonsense, it gets even BETTER: for the makeup day, they're expected to show up...this Saturday! Seriously, I don't know whether to slap my forehead, fall on the floor in hysterics, or just stand here gaping in astonishment at this concept. (Can I do all 3? That might be quite a show...)
At Derek's soccer game this past weekend, I was told by a teammate's mom that this has actually happened in the past...but few students actually show up...and they end up having to hire substitutes for many of the teachers as well. So I ask you the obvious question: What's. The. Point? Unless--work with me, here--I picture the kids sitting around the library, looking sleepy...disgruntled...and defiant. A mean-tempered guidance counselor stalks in and barks instructions at them. They are to sit quietly...and write an essay about "Who You Think You Are". Friendships form, and hijinks ensue, while an awesome soundtrack plays in the background. Would it be a very bad idea to show The Breakfast Club to Derek before he's relegated to Saturday School? Yeah...probably...
But here's the thing: having been caught unprepared this time, I actually looked ahead to what's coming in our Winter What-the-Heck Week...and it's potentially...let's call it "not terribly good". NOAA (with whom I'm kinda having a love/hate relationship right about now) claims that we might be slated for another 2-4 inches of the-other-4-letter-s-word on Wednesday night. Siiiiiighhhhh. As Mr. Vernon would have yelled: "You want another one?" But I just don't imagine the real-life kids angrily spitting back, "Yeah!" We'll just have to see how this plays out. Oh, and not to worry about Riley--he's getting released early for good behavior, as the most recent email states that schools are being dismissed "as soon as they feel it's safe to run the buses."
Crazy, crazy, crazy. However, we've also been assured that Spring usually begins to assert itself around the end of February...which is this coming weekend...so we'll just try to brush this ridiculous little episode aside, and hold out for the happy season of flowers-and-baseball!
The festivities kicked off last week, with the infamous Quarter-Inch-of-Ice Event...which closed schools from Tuesday through Friday. (Yes, you read that correctly...still scratching my head over it.) Apparently we were meant to wait patiently (yeah...have they even met me?) for Mother Nature to work her...solar magic, or something...and melt the sidewalks and parking lots...without chemical assistance, which presumably isn't in the Southland Municipal Budget. (Oh, and incidentally, the Powers That Be still haven't quite decided how to make up the missed days--there's talk about having to attend on Memorial Day, which they did last year, or cutting into Spring Break, or....well, I'll save the last possibility for a surprise a bit later on...stay tuned...)
Well, at looooong last, the students went back to their academic institutions yesterday--whoo hoo! With things seemingly returning to normal, it didn't even occur to me to check my good pal NOAA for an update...so imagine my shock (and dismay, I'm not gonna lie) when I opened the curtains this morning and saw...white crystals floating down from the sky. Husband--who does, in fact, almost obsessively stay tuned in to his preferred site, weather.com--informed us that we should expect 1-2 inches. Huh. Well, that's interesting, I suppose, but we'd better get on with our day, right? Hahahahaha! You must be thinking like a...stoic...Winter-jaded...Northerner! No sooner had Riley packed up his stuff, met his friend at the bottom of the driveway, and begun trudging up the street towards school, when Husband's phone jingled cheerfully...to helpfully let us know that there would be a 2-hour delay...FOR HIGH SCHOOLS.
That's right, everyone else was either already in their seats (Elementary) or en route (Middle), but the adolescent slackers--I mean "teenage scholars"--got to lounge around for another couple of hours. (Derek was, as expected, thoroughly delighted with this bizarre turn of events. As for Riley, at least he has a good story: "When I was a kid, I had to walk a mile...uphill...in the snow...to get to school! Well...at least that one time, anyway....") But wait, there's more! As the gentle flakes continued to flutter down benignly from the heavens, another message came in...you guessed it, they gave up entirely, and cancelled school...for the 9th-12th graders. If you can believe that nonsense, it gets even BETTER: for the makeup day, they're expected to show up...this Saturday! Seriously, I don't know whether to slap my forehead, fall on the floor in hysterics, or just stand here gaping in astonishment at this concept. (Can I do all 3? That might be quite a show...)
At Derek's soccer game this past weekend, I was told by a teammate's mom that this has actually happened in the past...but few students actually show up...and they end up having to hire substitutes for many of the teachers as well. So I ask you the obvious question: What's. The. Point? Unless--work with me, here--I picture the kids sitting around the library, looking sleepy...disgruntled...and defiant. A mean-tempered guidance counselor stalks in and barks instructions at them. They are to sit quietly...and write an essay about "Who You Think You Are". Friendships form, and hijinks ensue, while an awesome soundtrack plays in the background. Would it be a very bad idea to show The Breakfast Club to Derek before he's relegated to Saturday School? Yeah...probably...
But here's the thing: having been caught unprepared this time, I actually looked ahead to what's coming in our Winter What-the-Heck Week...and it's potentially...let's call it "not terribly good". NOAA (with whom I'm kinda having a love/hate relationship right about now) claims that we might be slated for another 2-4 inches of the-other-4-letter-s-word on Wednesday night. Siiiiiighhhhh. As Mr. Vernon would have yelled: "You want another one?" But I just don't imagine the real-life kids angrily spitting back, "Yeah!" We'll just have to see how this plays out. Oh, and not to worry about Riley--he's getting released early for good behavior, as the most recent email states that schools are being dismissed "as soon as they feel it's safe to run the buses."
Crazy, crazy, crazy. However, we've also been assured that Spring usually begins to assert itself around the end of February...which is this coming weekend...so we'll just try to brush this ridiculous little episode aside, and hold out for the happy season of flowers-and-baseball!
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wacky Winter Week
When Team WestEnders made the big decision to move to North Carolina, citing...how to phrase this delicately..."less-sucky Winter" as one of the reasons, residents of our adopted hometown seemed to feel it their...Southern Hospitality Duty, or something...to warn us about what happens during their own special version of the cold season. "Oh, it will snow," they would adamantly declare, before tacking onto the end "just...not a lot." Perhaps feeling that they hadn't quite transmitted the full picture of the conditions to which we would be exposed, they would then hasten to add, "But we do get ice...which is worse!" ("Not gonna argue that one!"...she says in a totally...foreshadowing...kind of way...) As a final note, they would make us aware of the fact that the Board of Education tends to err on the side of...extreme caution, let's say...sometimes decreeing that schools will be closed before a storm has even arrived and begun dropping whatever kind of precipitation it plans to bestow on the area. Hmm. No doubt, all of this is very useful information, to be filed away for a wintry day.
Aaannnd, apparently that time is right about now. On Monday--already a stay-at-home occasion to honor George and Abe--the forecast called for a snow/sleet mix, beginning in the afternoon and continuing overnight. Approximately, oh, 20 minutes or so after I spotted the first flake, we were notified that school was canceled for Tuesday. (And you wanna talk about thorough?: phone call to Husband, email to the home account, blazing red banner across the top of each school's website...all of which was completely unnecessary, actually, as Derek's posse had already blizzard-texted each other the details...ah, the Avalanche-of-Information Age...) "Well", we thought, "at least there's no mystery about it. No waking up at 5 a.m. to check the status and see if they've made the call yet."
In fact, the only preparations that needed to be taken care of involved me making a mad rush to the grocery store--not for the cliche milk, bread, and toilet paper, but instead for butter, brown sugar, and chocolate chips. Strange "stocking up" behavior? Perhaps, but in my humble opinion (cultivated from my own growing-up experiences with my mother), nothing says Snow Day quite like homemade chocolate chip bars. And, little did they know it, but the boys were about to get a crash course in Baking 101. (Because, somehow, I'd let them get to ages 14 and 11 without teaching them anything about the fine art of "creating delectable sugary treats in the kitchen". How. Did. This. Happen? Clearly, I'd shirked my sacred responsibilities as a parent in this area, and this tragic oversight needed to be corrected, ASAP. Plus: warm chocolate chips bars...enough said...)
Tuesday morning revealed a world that resembled nothing more than one enormous ice-skating rink. It was slippery, it was treacherous...it was a good thing no one had to go out in it. Oh, except that the Nutball Brothers of course had to use the natural feature to their advantage....by challenging each other to a sneaker-hockey match in the driveway. Otherwise, we all enjoyed an enforced Hooky Day--drinking hot chocolate, watching TV, and pretending it was just an extended weekend. And, of course, the baking....which was an outright comedy of ridiculousness. It turns out that my precious sons had NO IDEA how to perform even the most basic of tasks related to...culinary dessert creation.
For example, I watched Derek oh-so-carefully spoon flour into a measuring cup...leaving a good deal of empty space at the top. So he got an impromptu demonstration about how to fill, gently tamp down, and level the dry ingredients. Also a quick lecture about how--unlike regular cooking, where it's acceptable and encouraged to toss things in when inspiration strikes, and to eschew precise measurements for more of an "instinctive" method--baking involves scientific reactions, and therefore requires exact amounts of each item, and faithful following of the directions.
We even had to do a little math...since I'd accidentally turned to the wrong page in my recipe binder and started using the instructions for cookies...necessitating that we calculate fractions to come up with the correct amounts. (Hey, for a minute there, it was kind of like...class! Snow Day Bonus Points!) And getting Riley to attempt to crack an egg? Forgetaboutit. His exact words, as he ever-so-timidly tap-tap-tapped it on the edge of the bowl: "I can't do this. I'm gonna break it!" I think he meant that he was afraid to shatter it everywhere, and make a mess...but suffice it to say, he was removed from his egg-cracking post in disgrace. However, I'm delighted to report that finally, after much bumbling and a small amount of aggravation on my part, we did end up with an absolutely perfect pan of moist, chewy, golden-brown, chocolate-infused deliciousness. (Yum! And...Win!)
Meanwhile...Husband tackled the driveway, (not literally...because that would most likely prove to be both painful...and ineffective...) clearing as much as he could (with the one shovel we brought with us from Maryland--thank goodness!) to allow the sun to help with the thaw. This ended up being very important...as we discovered the children would NOT be returning to school on Wednesday. Wait, what? Sigh. To be fair, I grant you that rock-hard ice IS significantly more difficult to remove than the fluffy white stuff--especially when the temperatures stubbornly remain below freezing. Okay, fine...it's not like we weren't told to expect this. But on Wednesday the roads, at least, appeared to be in decent-enough shape for me to venture out in the Forester. Riley had arranged a playdate, (Can we still call it that when they're in Middle School? I suppose they still do "play", right?) so Derek and I drove him over to his friend's house.
Then the teenager and I headed out ourselves....for some retail therapy. You see, the night before, Derek had come into my room to chat....and stayed for an hour or so, just shooting the breeze. At one point he asked, "Do we have anything to do tomorrow?" When I answered that I was thinking of going to the Target that's near the mall, he chimed in, "Can I come?" Um...that's unusual and unexpected...but sure! (This would in fact be the first time in history that he's expressed interest of any kind in...shopping.) So we wandered around for a while, browsing...which for an adolescent male mostly means "looking at expensive sneakers Mom would never in a million years buy for me". And of course we opted for lunch before returning home...because, well...Panera was right there, how could we not? (Shhh! The deal was, we're not to tell Husband or younger sibling that we ate out without them...)
Whew, I have to admit that was a fun couple of days. Now it must be time to head back to the academic realm, yeah? Nooooooo. By 5 p.m., the barrage of messages had begun anew...no school AGAIN on Thursday. I mean, I know we had a snow shower for about 20 minutes Wednesday afternoon, but c'mon...they've gotta be just messing with us by now. Alas, it was not a joke. (Well...it kind of IS, yet no one seems to be laughing...) Sidewalks are still frozen...maybe that's the reason? I give up trying to figure it out. So...more blessed mother/son bonding time, I suppose.
At least I was able--in good conscience--to let Derek stay up past his usual school-night-lights-out-time to catch the UNC/Duke basketball game...which went into overtime, incidentally, causing it to drag on until...MY bedtime. Nevertheless, we entertained ourselves by rooting for the Tarheels (which by the way is soooooo weird, having spent our entire lives--yes, both of us--supporting the University of Maryland and shunning all North Carolina squads. But when you're talking about the local Battle of the Blues, there's no question that we choose Chapel Hill over that...Durham school-that-shall-not-be-named.)
But now...how to occupy ourselves for another unanticipated vacation day? Well, I'd noticed--based on an impromptu footwear inspection--that each kid appeared to need a new pair of sneakers. Rather than squeeze in a trip on the weekend, it seemed a good use of our free time to make the trip to DSW. (Which I'm absolutely certain the boys think of as "Dreaded Shoe Warehouse"...given how they react when faced with the prospect of visiting...) There you have it: shoe scavenging is what we've been reduced to, in an effort to amuse ourselves on this lengthy sabbatical. (Eh, could be worse, right? At least I'm not dragging them to Bed Bath & Beyond...although if they're home again tomorrow--Heaven forbid--that WILL happen, because it's on my To-Do List. Please, pleaaaaaasssse let there be school...)
And, that's the wrap on our scintillating Surprise Mid-Winter Break. Nothing remains but to wait with bated breath for the decision to be handed down about whether they'll be sent back to the hallowed halls of learning on Friday. Believe me, I'm keeping my fingers...toes...and anything else that I can manage...crossed. Time for one of those chocolate chip bars, I think...
Aaannnd, apparently that time is right about now. On Monday--already a stay-at-home occasion to honor George and Abe--the forecast called for a snow/sleet mix, beginning in the afternoon and continuing overnight. Approximately, oh, 20 minutes or so after I spotted the first flake, we were notified that school was canceled for Tuesday. (And you wanna talk about thorough?: phone call to Husband, email to the home account, blazing red banner across the top of each school's website...all of which was completely unnecessary, actually, as Derek's posse had already blizzard-texted each other the details...ah, the Avalanche-of-Information Age...) "Well", we thought, "at least there's no mystery about it. No waking up at 5 a.m. to check the status and see if they've made the call yet."
In fact, the only preparations that needed to be taken care of involved me making a mad rush to the grocery store--not for the cliche milk, bread, and toilet paper, but instead for butter, brown sugar, and chocolate chips. Strange "stocking up" behavior? Perhaps, but in my humble opinion (cultivated from my own growing-up experiences with my mother), nothing says Snow Day quite like homemade chocolate chip bars. And, little did they know it, but the boys were about to get a crash course in Baking 101. (Because, somehow, I'd let them get to ages 14 and 11 without teaching them anything about the fine art of "creating delectable sugary treats in the kitchen". How. Did. This. Happen? Clearly, I'd shirked my sacred responsibilities as a parent in this area, and this tragic oversight needed to be corrected, ASAP. Plus: warm chocolate chips bars...enough said...)
Tuesday morning revealed a world that resembled nothing more than one enormous ice-skating rink. It was slippery, it was treacherous...it was a good thing no one had to go out in it. Oh, except that the Nutball Brothers of course had to use the natural feature to their advantage....by challenging each other to a sneaker-hockey match in the driveway. Otherwise, we all enjoyed an enforced Hooky Day--drinking hot chocolate, watching TV, and pretending it was just an extended weekend. And, of course, the baking....which was an outright comedy of ridiculousness. It turns out that my precious sons had NO IDEA how to perform even the most basic of tasks related to...culinary dessert creation.
For example, I watched Derek oh-so-carefully spoon flour into a measuring cup...leaving a good deal of empty space at the top. So he got an impromptu demonstration about how to fill, gently tamp down, and level the dry ingredients. Also a quick lecture about how--unlike regular cooking, where it's acceptable and encouraged to toss things in when inspiration strikes, and to eschew precise measurements for more of an "instinctive" method--baking involves scientific reactions, and therefore requires exact amounts of each item, and faithful following of the directions.
We even had to do a little math...since I'd accidentally turned to the wrong page in my recipe binder and started using the instructions for cookies...necessitating that we calculate fractions to come up with the correct amounts. (Hey, for a minute there, it was kind of like...class! Snow Day Bonus Points!) And getting Riley to attempt to crack an egg? Forgetaboutit. His exact words, as he ever-so-timidly tap-tap-tapped it on the edge of the bowl: "I can't do this. I'm gonna break it!" I think he meant that he was afraid to shatter it everywhere, and make a mess...but suffice it to say, he was removed from his egg-cracking post in disgrace. However, I'm delighted to report that finally, after much bumbling and a small amount of aggravation on my part, we did end up with an absolutely perfect pan of moist, chewy, golden-brown, chocolate-infused deliciousness. (Yum! And...Win!)
Meanwhile...Husband tackled the driveway, (not literally...because that would most likely prove to be both painful...and ineffective...) clearing as much as he could (with the one shovel we brought with us from Maryland--thank goodness!) to allow the sun to help with the thaw. This ended up being very important...as we discovered the children would NOT be returning to school on Wednesday. Wait, what? Sigh. To be fair, I grant you that rock-hard ice IS significantly more difficult to remove than the fluffy white stuff--especially when the temperatures stubbornly remain below freezing. Okay, fine...it's not like we weren't told to expect this. But on Wednesday the roads, at least, appeared to be in decent-enough shape for me to venture out in the Forester. Riley had arranged a playdate, (Can we still call it that when they're in Middle School? I suppose they still do "play", right?) so Derek and I drove him over to his friend's house.
Then the teenager and I headed out ourselves....for some retail therapy. You see, the night before, Derek had come into my room to chat....and stayed for an hour or so, just shooting the breeze. At one point he asked, "Do we have anything to do tomorrow?" When I answered that I was thinking of going to the Target that's near the mall, he chimed in, "Can I come?" Um...that's unusual and unexpected...but sure! (This would in fact be the first time in history that he's expressed interest of any kind in...shopping.) So we wandered around for a while, browsing...which for an adolescent male mostly means "looking at expensive sneakers Mom would never in a million years buy for me". And of course we opted for lunch before returning home...because, well...Panera was right there, how could we not? (Shhh! The deal was, we're not to tell Husband or younger sibling that we ate out without them...)
Whew, I have to admit that was a fun couple of days. Now it must be time to head back to the academic realm, yeah? Nooooooo. By 5 p.m., the barrage of messages had begun anew...no school AGAIN on Thursday. I mean, I know we had a snow shower for about 20 minutes Wednesday afternoon, but c'mon...they've gotta be just messing with us by now. Alas, it was not a joke. (Well...it kind of IS, yet no one seems to be laughing...) Sidewalks are still frozen...maybe that's the reason? I give up trying to figure it out. So...more blessed mother/son bonding time, I suppose.
At least I was able--in good conscience--to let Derek stay up past his usual school-night-lights-out-time to catch the UNC/Duke basketball game...which went into overtime, incidentally, causing it to drag on until...MY bedtime. Nevertheless, we entertained ourselves by rooting for the Tarheels (which by the way is soooooo weird, having spent our entire lives--yes, both of us--supporting the University of Maryland and shunning all North Carolina squads. But when you're talking about the local Battle of the Blues, there's no question that we choose Chapel Hill over that...Durham school-that-shall-not-be-named.)
But now...how to occupy ourselves for another unanticipated vacation day? Well, I'd noticed--based on an impromptu footwear inspection--that each kid appeared to need a new pair of sneakers. Rather than squeeze in a trip on the weekend, it seemed a good use of our free time to make the trip to DSW. (Which I'm absolutely certain the boys think of as "Dreaded Shoe Warehouse"...given how they react when faced with the prospect of visiting...) There you have it: shoe scavenging is what we've been reduced to, in an effort to amuse ourselves on this lengthy sabbatical. (Eh, could be worse, right? At least I'm not dragging them to Bed Bath & Beyond...although if they're home again tomorrow--Heaven forbid--that WILL happen, because it's on my To-Do List. Please, pleaaaaaasssse let there be school...)
And, that's the wrap on our scintillating Surprise Mid-Winter Break. Nothing remains but to wait with bated breath for the decision to be handed down about whether they'll be sent back to the hallowed halls of learning on Friday. Believe me, I'm keeping my fingers...toes...and anything else that I can manage...crossed. Time for one of those chocolate chip bars, I think...
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Today's Menu: Middle School Surprise
As a parent, you try to stay in touch with what's going on in your kids' lives as best you can--by paying attention to what they actually choose to share with you, and also by observing their behavior. (I just realized how much that makes it sound like they're some kind of...science experiment...complete with research, and data collection, and analysis...which is actually not too far off the mark, come to think of it...) But no matter how on top of things you may think you are, there inevitably comes a moment (or, you know, a whole lot of them) when you go "Huh. I did NOT see that coming."
Eleven-year old Riley provided me with one such instance recently. I had gotten an email from his school, reminding students and parents of the upcoming Valentine's Day Dance. Now, normally these events are passively ignored--or openly scorned--by both of the boys. So I jokingly mentioned it to Riley in passing, something along the lines of "Hey, buddy, are you going to the dance, ha ha?" But his reaction was...startling...to say the least. He colored a bit, cast his glance downward, and mumbled, "Yeah...maybe..." I'm sorry, whaaaaat was that? (Alert: the Test Subject--um "son"--has just acted in a manner inconsistent with all previous information collected in his file! Further investigation is required!)
"Oh," I casually ventured (after picking my mouth up off the floor and composing my features into an expression of polite interest, rather than abject astonishment) "Are your friends going?" At which point his older brother, with a wicked grin, gleefully interjected, "Or...do you have a DATE?" (Smooth, Derek. Very subtle...) To his credit, Riley kept his cool in the face of sibling taunting, and answered carefully, "I might be going with someone." Oh. My. Goodness. Where in the H-E-C-K did this come from? Rather than start peppering him with questions (as I soooo wanted to do) I calmly continued, "Hmm...you asked someone?" "Well...she asked me," he confessed.Wooooooow. Before I had time to formulate my next line of inquisition--I mean "lighthearted chat", of course--he added, "We're going as friends."
Oh-kay. This is all just a big old pile of Breaking News to me, here at the normally up-to-date Mom Chronicles. What immediately ensued was a tense period of some pretty high-level, sensitive negotiation, let me tell ya. Basically, I got him to agree to confide more details...when his brother wasn't around to hear. In return, I had to solemnly swear NOT to write about it...until after the dance was over. Done, and done! During the next few days I tried to conduct discreet, whispered conversations to safeguard his privacy. I managed to get her name, a description, a list of classes they have in common...good stuff. But the really crucial issue--the proverbial "burning question", if you will--was this: "Do we need to go out and get her a card, or a small...I don't know...token of your affection, or something?"
After pondering this for a while, he decided against it. Then at practically the 11th hour, the whole shebang almost unraveled into a disaster, when Riley disclosed that he possibly might not be attending with the young lady after all. It seems that a mutual friend had his own romantic designs on our heroine, and wanted to ask her to the dance himself. Oh, the 6th-grade intrigue! However would they resolve this dilemma? Well, I'll tell you: she explained that she had already promised to accompany Riley, and didn't want to disappoint him. So they agreed to all hang out as pals for the time being. (Perhaps with the unspoken implication that after the dance, all bets are off? All's fair in love and war?) The only thing I can say is...how freakin' mature are these tweens? They handled it beautifully, all by themselves, with a minimum of drama and/or hurt feelings. (WHEW! Crisis averted!)
Anyway, when Riley returned from his first Middle School dance experience, he reported that he did have a nice time. If I remember correctly, he said he didn't actually, you know, "dance"...but he did spend some time talking to his--what should we call her? Not GF...I know "friend-who's-a-girl" (FWaG)--as well as his male posse. (This was considerably better than another buddy, who refused to even acknowledge the girl he'd supposedly brought, causing her to confront him in anger toward the end of the shindig. Apparently NOT the shining example of an adolescent Romeo...) The only other thing Riley deemed worth mentioning was the amount of candy he purchased (some of which he gave to the FWaG).
So I guess for an initial foray into the murky world of...school social events...and relationships (shudder)...this went as well as we could possibly have hoped. No heartbreak, lots of entertainment...now can you pleeaaaase do me a favor and just go back to the blissful state of "oblivious to the opposite sex" for a while longer? That'd be great...thanks....
Eleven-year old Riley provided me with one such instance recently. I had gotten an email from his school, reminding students and parents of the upcoming Valentine's Day Dance. Now, normally these events are passively ignored--or openly scorned--by both of the boys. So I jokingly mentioned it to Riley in passing, something along the lines of "Hey, buddy, are you going to the dance, ha ha?" But his reaction was...startling...to say the least. He colored a bit, cast his glance downward, and mumbled, "Yeah...maybe..." I'm sorry, whaaaaat was that? (Alert: the Test Subject--um "son"--has just acted in a manner inconsistent with all previous information collected in his file! Further investigation is required!)
"Oh," I casually ventured (after picking my mouth up off the floor and composing my features into an expression of polite interest, rather than abject astonishment) "Are your friends going?" At which point his older brother, with a wicked grin, gleefully interjected, "Or...do you have a DATE?" (Smooth, Derek. Very subtle...) To his credit, Riley kept his cool in the face of sibling taunting, and answered carefully, "I might be going with someone." Oh. My. Goodness. Where in the H-E-C-K did this come from? Rather than start peppering him with questions (as I soooo wanted to do) I calmly continued, "Hmm...you asked someone?" "Well...she asked me," he confessed.Wooooooow. Before I had time to formulate my next line of inquisition--I mean "lighthearted chat", of course--he added, "We're going as friends."
Oh-kay. This is all just a big old pile of Breaking News to me, here at the normally up-to-date Mom Chronicles. What immediately ensued was a tense period of some pretty high-level, sensitive negotiation, let me tell ya. Basically, I got him to agree to confide more details...when his brother wasn't around to hear. In return, I had to solemnly swear NOT to write about it...until after the dance was over. Done, and done! During the next few days I tried to conduct discreet, whispered conversations to safeguard his privacy. I managed to get her name, a description, a list of classes they have in common...good stuff. But the really crucial issue--the proverbial "burning question", if you will--was this: "Do we need to go out and get her a card, or a small...I don't know...token of your affection, or something?"
After pondering this for a while, he decided against it. Then at practically the 11th hour, the whole shebang almost unraveled into a disaster, when Riley disclosed that he possibly might not be attending with the young lady after all. It seems that a mutual friend had his own romantic designs on our heroine, and wanted to ask her to the dance himself. Oh, the 6th-grade intrigue! However would they resolve this dilemma? Well, I'll tell you: she explained that she had already promised to accompany Riley, and didn't want to disappoint him. So they agreed to all hang out as pals for the time being. (Perhaps with the unspoken implication that after the dance, all bets are off? All's fair in love and war?) The only thing I can say is...how freakin' mature are these tweens? They handled it beautifully, all by themselves, with a minimum of drama and/or hurt feelings. (WHEW! Crisis averted!)
Anyway, when Riley returned from his first Middle School dance experience, he reported that he did have a nice time. If I remember correctly, he said he didn't actually, you know, "dance"...but he did spend some time talking to his--what should we call her? Not GF...I know "friend-who's-a-girl" (FWaG)--as well as his male posse. (This was considerably better than another buddy, who refused to even acknowledge the girl he'd supposedly brought, causing her to confront him in anger toward the end of the shindig. Apparently NOT the shining example of an adolescent Romeo...) The only other thing Riley deemed worth mentioning was the amount of candy he purchased (some of which he gave to the FWaG).
So I guess for an initial foray into the murky world of...school social events...and relationships (shudder)...this went as well as we could possibly have hoped. No heartbreak, lots of entertainment...now can you pleeaaaase do me a favor and just go back to the blissful state of "oblivious to the opposite sex" for a while longer? That'd be great...thanks....
Friday, February 13, 2015
I guess you could say they're an open (comic) book...
On Team WestEnders, I represent a very small, exclusive subset...the lone member of the...oh, let's just call it the "Double-X-Chromosome Club". (Yeah, I know that I could just say "I'm the only girl", but what fun would that be? This makes it sound more like a...cool secret society...or something...) As such, I find the antics of the boys around me to be frequently amusing...occasionally exasperating...and even sometimes enlightening. Here are a couple of recent examples: (I'll let you decide into which category they each fall. But don't worry, there will NOT be a quiz at the end...)
On a Saturday night a few weeks ago, we were planning to try out a local restaurant for the first time, for a casual evening meal. After spending their usual amount of daylight hours outside running around, the kids both were strongly in need of some cleaning up and getting themselves to a presentable level for "eating in public". When informed of this requirement, Derek heaved a heavy sigh. Then he plodded toward his room, looking back over his shoulder and saying in an extremely aggrieved tone, "I'll be in the shower, because somebody won't let me go out to dinner with dirt all over my shirt."
Looking pointedly at me, he added, "Somebody thinks I need to be clean when I leave the house." By this point I was snickering at the dramatics, and he himself was fighting to maintain his fake-suffering tone, but he gamely continued, "When I have kids, I'm gonna let them go out filthy all the time." Now he was really on a roll, because he concluded, with an inspired flourish, "In fact, I'm gonna rub dirt all over them every time they get ready to leave!" Suddenly he stopped, as if a new thought had just occurred to him. He shook his head ruefully and threw out, "Of course, I won't have a wife." Seizing the opportunity to derail his little soliloquy--and of course poke holes in his logic--I countered with, "Well, that's interesting, How, exactly, do you plan to produce these children then?"
Without missing a beat, he retorted, "She's gonna divorce me." Oh-kay. That makes some kind of... twisted sense, I suppose...and, um...I'm glad you have your future planned out so well? However, Husband got the final word on this one, as he had been apparently monitoring the conversation from a nearby room. He called over in a cheerful voice, "Good thing you have realistic expectations!" Sighhhhh.....
And now, on a semi-related topic, we have Riley, who began a recent after-school chat with the emphatic statement, "This is the worst Health unit. All about diseases and stuff." I made appropriately sympathetic and supportive comments--about how I'm sure it wasn't fun, but was necessary information to know, nonetheless. He nodded in agreement, then plowed on, "The next one is supposedly our teacher's favorite, ICR." Before I even had a chance to express my ignorance of what this stood for, he filled me in, "Interpersonal Communication and Relationships." He paused slightly before explaining further, (while determinedly NOT meeting my gaze) "....all about...babymaking and stuff. It's the one everyone talks about."
I managed to suppress the urge to giggle, intending to focus on the fact that if all the kids are discussing it, there must be something interesting going on in there, but all I managed to get out was an enthusiastic, "Oh!" before he cut me off. "Not in a good way. In a...Middle School...'Oh no, not that' kind of way." To which I had no further response but..."Ohhhhhh. Sorry? I mean, have fun with that, sweetie!" And remember, this will only serve to reinforce the solid, scientific notion that...Girls Are Icky! (Right? Isn't that what they're instructing at the 6th-grade level? I certainly hope so...)
And finally, back to the Derek Channel, where we had the following exchange one afternoon last week: "Mom, can I go over to my friend's?" The answer to this is almost always "yes", after the answering of a few standard questions, starting with "Where does he live?" (This being a buddy whose house he's not yet visited.) Derek named a street just around the corner from us. So far, so good. Next inevitably comes, "Are his parents home?" He nodded affirmatively.
Several seconds passed as Derek put on his shoes, and during the silent delay I suddenly was hit with the impulsive urge to inquire, "So...what are you guys planning to do?" Derek was somehow ready with an immediate reply, "Oh, you know...probably play some Rated M video games...watch some R-movies...drink a whole lot of...caffeine!" Oh, for the love of...I suppose I did ask for that. Never. Mind. (And since I know darn well you're not going to do ANY of those things...have a good time...smart aleck kid...")
And there you have it. The latest installment of Tales from Adolescent Boy Brains. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'd better go look up some of my fellow X-Chromosome Club cohorts for some...you know...chocolate....and chick flicks...and whatnot. No testosterone allowed!
On a Saturday night a few weeks ago, we were planning to try out a local restaurant for the first time, for a casual evening meal. After spending their usual amount of daylight hours outside running around, the kids both were strongly in need of some cleaning up and getting themselves to a presentable level for "eating in public". When informed of this requirement, Derek heaved a heavy sigh. Then he plodded toward his room, looking back over his shoulder and saying in an extremely aggrieved tone, "I'll be in the shower, because somebody won't let me go out to dinner with dirt all over my shirt."
Looking pointedly at me, he added, "Somebody thinks I need to be clean when I leave the house." By this point I was snickering at the dramatics, and he himself was fighting to maintain his fake-suffering tone, but he gamely continued, "When I have kids, I'm gonna let them go out filthy all the time." Now he was really on a roll, because he concluded, with an inspired flourish, "In fact, I'm gonna rub dirt all over them every time they get ready to leave!" Suddenly he stopped, as if a new thought had just occurred to him. He shook his head ruefully and threw out, "Of course, I won't have a wife." Seizing the opportunity to derail his little soliloquy--and of course poke holes in his logic--I countered with, "Well, that's interesting, How, exactly, do you plan to produce these children then?"
Without missing a beat, he retorted, "She's gonna divorce me." Oh-kay. That makes some kind of... twisted sense, I suppose...and, um...I'm glad you have your future planned out so well? However, Husband got the final word on this one, as he had been apparently monitoring the conversation from a nearby room. He called over in a cheerful voice, "Good thing you have realistic expectations!" Sighhhhh.....
And now, on a semi-related topic, we have Riley, who began a recent after-school chat with the emphatic statement, "This is the worst Health unit. All about diseases and stuff." I made appropriately sympathetic and supportive comments--about how I'm sure it wasn't fun, but was necessary information to know, nonetheless. He nodded in agreement, then plowed on, "The next one is supposedly our teacher's favorite, ICR." Before I even had a chance to express my ignorance of what this stood for, he filled me in, "Interpersonal Communication and Relationships." He paused slightly before explaining further, (while determinedly NOT meeting my gaze) "....all about...babymaking and stuff. It's the one everyone talks about."
I managed to suppress the urge to giggle, intending to focus on the fact that if all the kids are discussing it, there must be something interesting going on in there, but all I managed to get out was an enthusiastic, "Oh!" before he cut me off. "Not in a good way. In a...Middle School...'Oh no, not that' kind of way." To which I had no further response but..."Ohhhhhh. Sorry? I mean, have fun with that, sweetie!" And remember, this will only serve to reinforce the solid, scientific notion that...Girls Are Icky! (Right? Isn't that what they're instructing at the 6th-grade level? I certainly hope so...)
And finally, back to the Derek Channel, where we had the following exchange one afternoon last week: "Mom, can I go over to my friend's?" The answer to this is almost always "yes", after the answering of a few standard questions, starting with "Where does he live?" (This being a buddy whose house he's not yet visited.) Derek named a street just around the corner from us. So far, so good. Next inevitably comes, "Are his parents home?" He nodded affirmatively.
Several seconds passed as Derek put on his shoes, and during the silent delay I suddenly was hit with the impulsive urge to inquire, "So...what are you guys planning to do?" Derek was somehow ready with an immediate reply, "Oh, you know...probably play some Rated M video games...watch some R-movies...drink a whole lot of...caffeine!" Oh, for the love of...I suppose I did ask for that. Never. Mind. (And since I know darn well you're not going to do ANY of those things...have a good time...smart aleck kid...")
And there you have it. The latest installment of Tales from Adolescent Boy Brains. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'd better go look up some of my fellow X-Chromosome Club cohorts for some...you know...chocolate....and chick flicks...and whatnot. No testosterone allowed!
Sunday, February 8, 2015
And....you're out!
So, it was one of those gorgeous Winter Gift days--68*, bright sunshine--when I feel a compulsion to spend some quality time with my Sauconys, pounding the pavement...alas, little did I suspect just how shockingly literal this phrase would turn out to be. I decided to run an unfamiliar route through a nearby neighborhood, for a change of scenery. As I set off with my usual stride, I found myself having to compose a bit of a mental pep-talk to encourage the legs; walking with my new Saturday morning fitness friends had helped me accumulate 20,000 steps the previous day...which was making my muscles a bit sluggish. ("Hiking Hangover"? Yep, it's a thing--I'm calling it...) Furthermore, I knew I was due for a fresh pair of sneakers, but hadn't yet gone out shopping to purchase them. Thus I was doing my best to focus on the spectacular weather...and not the fact that I was starting a 4-ish mile run with 2 strikes against me.
And really, I was doing okay. The wind was a tad strong, but so were the rays, so I couldn't complain...yet. There I was, after reaching the halfway point and turning around to head back toward home, running along a fairly narrow paved path. Suddenly I spotted something downright alarming: a youngster (Best guess, maybe kindergarten?) careening toward me on a bike. He was wearing a gleeful expression...while swerving somewhat wildly back and forth on the trail. With thoughts that included equal parts "self preservation" and "pedestrian courtesy", I decided the best course of action might be to move as far to the side as possible, allowing the wee crazy-driving-gremlin a wide berth.
However, the best of intentions went awry....as the edge of my shoe caught the uneven boundary between the path and the grass...my ankle turned, and down I went (with quite a ruckus, if I do say so myself). My left knee scraped across the jagged lip of the asphalt, my left hand went out to try and keep my face from smacking the ground, and my right shoulder banged down pretty hard--because, you know, I was holding my phone on that side while listening to music, and no way was I dropping that sucker if I could help it. While I was lying in a heap, stunned and confused as to what the HECK had just happened, the little boy's companions hurried over and asked if I was all right. The oldest one even asked if I needed him to call someone to come get me--even in my somewhat woozy state, I was impressed by the very mannerly behavior of the kids (except the madcap cyclist--he just kept right on plowing ahead...but he gets a Munchkin Pass on this one, due to his tender years...)
Honestly, I couldn't have been that bad off...I had the presence of mind to pause the timer on my watch...because "minutes on the ground" do NOT count toward your workout, you know? (No, I'm not making that part up...and yes, I realize it's ridiculous, what can I say?) It didn't take long for me to determine that nothing felt broken, or even sprained. Heck, my pants weren't even ripped (and let me just say: thank you, Under Armour). My song hadn't even been interrupted--clearly I was just fine! So of course I did what any normal person would: I got back up and continued my run...somewhat more slowly than before, but whatever.
But...I'd been slogging along for maybe 2 minutes when I could no longer ignore that my left knee felt...weird. With a sigh of resignation, I slowed to a halt (yep, pausing the stopwatch again), pulled up my pants leg, and was greeted by...a whole lotta blood. Well...that certainly explains it. After gazing at the situation in mild consternation for a short period--noting that it was in no way...gushing...or anything gross like that--I resumed my forward progress...at a walking pace. I knew there were 2 hills coming up that I just didn't feel like dealing with right at that moment, so I gave myself permission to wait until I was past that point to pick it up to a jog once more.
Aaannnd....I made it home under my own power...a wounded road warrior, perhaps...but with a pretty good story for my troubles. Oh, and I believe that definitely counts as Strike Three for my doomed Sunday excursion. On the upside, at least I got some fresh air and was able to commune with nature (and some of her creatures), right? Now if you'll pardon me, I need a clean bandage...and several more Ibuprofens...
And really, I was doing okay. The wind was a tad strong, but so were the rays, so I couldn't complain...yet. There I was, after reaching the halfway point and turning around to head back toward home, running along a fairly narrow paved path. Suddenly I spotted something downright alarming: a youngster (Best guess, maybe kindergarten?) careening toward me on a bike. He was wearing a gleeful expression...while swerving somewhat wildly back and forth on the trail. With thoughts that included equal parts "self preservation" and "pedestrian courtesy", I decided the best course of action might be to move as far to the side as possible, allowing the wee crazy-driving-gremlin a wide berth.
However, the best of intentions went awry....as the edge of my shoe caught the uneven boundary between the path and the grass...my ankle turned, and down I went (with quite a ruckus, if I do say so myself). My left knee scraped across the jagged lip of the asphalt, my left hand went out to try and keep my face from smacking the ground, and my right shoulder banged down pretty hard--because, you know, I was holding my phone on that side while listening to music, and no way was I dropping that sucker if I could help it. While I was lying in a heap, stunned and confused as to what the HECK had just happened, the little boy's companions hurried over and asked if I was all right. The oldest one even asked if I needed him to call someone to come get me--even in my somewhat woozy state, I was impressed by the very mannerly behavior of the kids (except the madcap cyclist--he just kept right on plowing ahead...but he gets a Munchkin Pass on this one, due to his tender years...)
Honestly, I couldn't have been that bad off...I had the presence of mind to pause the timer on my watch...because "minutes on the ground" do NOT count toward your workout, you know? (No, I'm not making that part up...and yes, I realize it's ridiculous, what can I say?) It didn't take long for me to determine that nothing felt broken, or even sprained. Heck, my pants weren't even ripped (and let me just say: thank you, Under Armour). My song hadn't even been interrupted--clearly I was just fine! So of course I did what any normal person would: I got back up and continued my run...somewhat more slowly than before, but whatever.
But...I'd been slogging along for maybe 2 minutes when I could no longer ignore that my left knee felt...weird. With a sigh of resignation, I slowed to a halt (yep, pausing the stopwatch again), pulled up my pants leg, and was greeted by...a whole lotta blood. Well...that certainly explains it. After gazing at the situation in mild consternation for a short period--noting that it was in no way...gushing...or anything gross like that--I resumed my forward progress...at a walking pace. I knew there were 2 hills coming up that I just didn't feel like dealing with right at that moment, so I gave myself permission to wait until I was past that point to pick it up to a jog once more.
Aaannnd....I made it home under my own power...a wounded road warrior, perhaps...but with a pretty good story for my troubles. Oh, and I believe that definitely counts as Strike Three for my doomed Sunday excursion. On the upside, at least I got some fresh air and was able to commune with nature (and some of her creatures), right? Now if you'll pardon me, I need a clean bandage...and several more Ibuprofens...
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