Running, definitely. "Racing"...eh, not so much

Yes, folks, that season is upon us once again--the time of abundant blossoms, temperate breezes...and apparently, multiple options available every weekend for runners to pound the pavement around town, sporting their sponsored "support-this-or-that-cause" t-shirts. With so many choices happening very close to home (because, you know, we really enjoy doing the races, and all...just as long as we don't have to get up too early for it!) Team WestEnders was considering participating in the 5K for Fitness, sponsored by the Public School Foundation.

However, Husband had a scheduled soccer game that conflicted with it, time-wise. And then there's also one of those "color runs" next Saturday, which prompted Derek to decide that he didn't want to commit to two 5Ks in a row (for reasons unknown--it's not like the boy doesn't run around all the time anyway, but whatever...) So the bottom line was: Riley and I would do the one this weekend, then we'd all four experience the goofy, rainbow-hued one together next week.

What really sealed the deal was when Riley told me he'd get extra credit in PE for showing proof that he completed this particular race. (I know, I know, the athletically-inclined kid isn't the one who actually needs the additional points....but I humored him anyway) So it came as no great surprise when we walked up to the area on UNC's campus where everyone was congregating before the event, and he immediately spotted a whole passel of other kids from his school. Now, I normally end up striding without my family anyway, by virtue of the fact that we all mosey along at very different paces. Fortunately--since it seems I was being well-and-truly ditched in favor of the peer group--this time I'd planned wisely and brought my headphones, so I could at least have peppy musical accompaniment.

As for the actual race, the weather was favorable--overcast and cool, with the rain holding off until we were totally finished (yessss!). But the course itself? In a word: HILLY. I mean, I'm not talking about scaling the...Cliffs of Chapel Hill (yeah, that's a figment of my imagination)...or anything, just rolling terrain that, over time, wore me right the heck out. (I felt better when I heard other people commenting about the same thing at the end, so it wasn't just me...being wimpy!) Let's just say that I slogged through my Slowest...3.1 miles..Ever. Riley, of course, was hanging with his buddies waiting for me to cross the Finish Line, looking fresh as the proverbial daisy. (Grr...the boundless energy of youth...where do I get me some of that?)

Anyway, they used a cool technology that we'd never seen before--where you actually wore the timing device behind the bib with your number on it. As you came to the end, someone with a...space-age-scanner-type-thingie (very advanced terminology...for those "in the know"...or perhaps those "making stuff up"...again...) waved it in the region of your belly (or back, if you had pinned the paper there instead) and thus recorded your "official time". So it turned out that Riley had clocked in at 24:30, good for 57th place overall (out of 330 people). And me? A relatively pokey 31:15...but 142nd put me in the middle of the pack, and as wiped as I felt when it was all over, that sounded pretty darn good to me. We did have a couple of brushes with greatness, though: one kid that Riley knew from school was doing his very first 5K...and he won his age group (20 minutes...seriously, how is it even possible to move that fast?) and a friend of Derek's also took first place for the 15 and 16 year old boys.

Personally, I know I've said it before, but in order for me to even have a snowball's chance of hauling my cookies at that speed, something reeeaaaallly scary would have to be chasing me. No, scratch that--as long as it wasn't a creature that wanted to eat me right away, I'd rather just allow it to catch me and drag me back to its lair, where I would then have the opportunity to come up with and execute a brilliant escape plan to save my life. And now you know the shameful lengths to which I would go...in order to avoid being forced to sprint. Lazy? Nah, I prefer to think of it as "sensible conservation of resources"...or some such nonsense...

Finally, of course, there's the reward...no, I'm not talking about the bananas and bagels provided as after-race snacks. I'm referring to the gourmet coffee and hot chocolate Riley and I stopped for on the way home. Hey, I can't help it if Weaver Street Market is directly in our path, right? Believe me, we earned it. Oh, and guess what: it's begun pouring in earnest at this point. So with our workout already in the books, the rest of the day can be spent LOUNGING with no guilt whatsoever..and maybe some more warm beverages....aaahhhh....

Working on our dual citizenship...sort of....

When we first moved to North Carolina, it was common for people to ask us how we were settling in--to our new house, our adopted hometown, the kids' schools, etc. And the answers were always very concrete..."Our neighborhood's great...the boys have met lots of classmates and kids from our street...we're finding our way around." Now that we've been here for about 10 months, the polite inquiries have subtly shifted to something more along the lines of "So, does it feel like home yet? Do you get the sense that you belong here?" Hmm...for these less tangible factors, the responses aren't quite so cut-and-dried. I mean, sure, some of the reasons we came here--milder weather, new horizons to explore--have met our expectations beautifully. But as for the notion of...I don't know..."assimilating"? That's not so easy to quantify, is it?

Fortunately, I don't have to lie awake at night pondering these profound philosophical conundrums (which I totally was...okay, NOT), since several things happened recently that made me think the universe was humorously putting the issue to rest for me. First, I had the small-town experience of...running into someone you know. In this case, it was my dance teacher, in line at Whole Foods (I know, I know--of course it's where my fellow organic-crunchy-granola-tree-huggers hang out). And I don't know about you, but for me, nothing quite says "hey, you're really a part of this place now" like recognizing folks when you're out-and-about.

A similar incident occurred when Team WestEnders was meandering down Franklin Street through the heart of Chapel Hill, strolling towards our chosen restaurant for Derek's birthday dinner. It was a busy Saturday around twilight, with crowds of people enjoying the balmy Spring evening. There were couples who looked like they were on dates, parents clinging to the hands of young children, groups of gowned and tuxedoed college students out for what we assumed was a pre-UNC-event meal--it was hoppin', for sure. As we crossed an intersection amidst a throng of other pedestrians, we suddenly heard a kid's voice pipe up over the hum of conversation, "Hi, Riley!" I never quite spotted the actual child, lost as he was in a sea of taller legs, but Riley told us he was another 6th grader at his school. So we'll count that as another "friend spotting".

We continued down the sidewalk to our eatery...which turned out to be a popular place that day. Granted, it does not boast a large lobby...but the line stretched from the counter out the door. I've already mentioned that it was a lovely night, so we didn't particularly mind--more time for people-watching. We passed the time chatting and casually glancing at the waves of humanity sweeping by us, up and down the block. Apparently I wasn't as keen an observer as I could have been, however...when we got inside and sat down at a table, Derek asked if I'd noticed the very tall person behind us waiting. I admitted I hadn't. "Oh, that was Justin Jackson," he breezily informed me...in a manner that assumed I had any earthly clue what that meant. When I offered him only a blank stare, he elaborated, "He's a forward on UNC's basketball team."

Oh. Ohhhhh! That's like...a local celebrity sighting, or something! "Yeah," Derek added, "I thought it was him, but I knew for sure when another guy asked him to sign his hat!" Well, that's just too cool...I'm kinda sorry I missed it (and let's not talk about how out of it I must have been, that somehow a 6-foot-9 creature was towering over me a foot away and I failed to pay attention...I blame low blood sugar...), but at least I was there for the...near-brush-with-fame!

And finally, everyone knows I like to ramble, (no, I don't mean verbally...although clearly I enjoy that, too...) whether it's discovering places I've never been, or even seeking out alternate routes to locations I frequent (the back way to Costco--whoo hoo!). But it was still amusing to me when a couple of weeks ago a new acquaintance--who was going to be hosting out of town visitors soon--asked me what touristy-type spots I'd gotten to so far, which ones I'd found most interesting, and whether I would recommend them for her guests. I suddenly felt like a volunteer Tour Guide (Piedmont Region. And yes, I would in fact like that on a tee-shirt)...so...official...and whatnot.

So there you have it. I guess you could say we're all finding a niche here in the friendly environs of Chapelboro. (There, you see, that's another thing: insiders refer to our area that way sometimes-- because it's where Chapel Hill and Carrboro blend together. Learning the lingo...y'all...) We'll just keep on appreciating the abundant outdoor life...roaming around the highways and byways in search of entertaining adventures...and maybe memorizing the names and faces of local sports players so I can be better prepared for my next close encounter!

Another year for my oldest "baby"....

There was a particularly momentous occasion this week for one member of Team WestEnders: Derek celebrated his 15th birthday. According to him, though, it was no big deal. When I asked whether he was excited about the milestone, he shrugged in a noncommittal way and said, "Well, I already had 14..." Oh, well sure...wait, what? He elaborated, "It's not like I'm just becoming a teenager...and 16 is a big one, when I can drive, so this year isn't really anything special." Hmm...I suppose that makes sense...after applying Teenage Boy Logic, of course.

However, I still felt compelled to try and make at least a little bit of a fuss about his turning a year older. For one thing, this would mark the first birthday he'd be spending in North Carolina. Instead of the customary family party with his cousins and godparents, he'd just get...his parents and sibling...you know, the same people he sees every day of his life. So I vowed to try to work out some birthday surprises...if possible. As it happened, I got a couple of lucky brainstorms in terms of presents. In fact, he and his brother actually inspired one, without their even realizing it.

You see, on one of our frequent trips to Dick's Sporting Goods (aka "possibly their favorite store in the known universe")--once they'd finished looking at/choosing whatever it was we'd gone in for in the first place--they hightailed it over to the golf section to goof around on the practice green that's set up there as a permanent installation. Presumably this is to help actual golfers try out clubs before buying them...but my kids treat it like their own personal mini-golf course. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that they L-O-V-E this thing. If I ever lose track of them in the store (which happens with exasperating regularity as they flit among the displays oohing and aahing over all the gear...but fortunately is far less panic-inducing than when they were toddlers, thank goodness...), I've learned that this is the most likely place to reunite with them.

Luckily the staff indulges them, seeming (so far) to find their schtick amusing...seeing as how they behave much more like...Happy Gilmore than, say, Jordan Spieth. (And yes, of course I had to look that up, do I seem like a golf geek to you?) Well, one day during the Winter, Riley enthused, "It would be great to have one of these to play with in the Bonus Room!" Ding ding ding! All I had to do was file that tidbit away, then consult with my bestie--you might know it as "Amazon"--when the time came to order up one personal putting green, 2 clubs, and a set of wall-and-furniture-friendly foam practice balls. The best part is, not only were they not expecting it, but they've played with it for hours every day since taking it out of the box and arranging it in their Boy Cave. A new "toy" that provides quality brother bonding time...score!

Then, the other thing that struck me as a bright idea for our sports-nut son was a subscription to ESPN Magazine. He's gotten Sports Illustrated Kids for years, and still anticipates its arrival every month, and enjoys devouring it cover-to-cover. But the way that boy soaks up details and statistics these days, and loves to analyze players and games and teams, I figured he was ready for something a bit more informative and in-depth. Besides, Husband will read it, too...which will undoubtedly spark even more sports-related dinnertime conversation than already occurs. So...another win...but it's probably a good thing I'm not much of an evening meal kind of girl, anyway (I predict they won't even notice I'm over in the corner with my nose buried in my latest issue of Fitness)!

Finally, we come to the all-important "food portion" of our traditional birthday commemoration. Since Thursday was a soccer night, Derek had to make do with whatever was on hand, and relatively quick and simple to prepare--which ended up being salmon (stocked in the freezer thanks to blessed Costco), roasted potatoes (the raw materials having been included in our weekly Produce Box delivery earlier that afternoon), and salad...not too shabby for a weeknight supper, yeah?

And rather than bake a cake for just us (which, let's be honest, here, I'd end up eating waaayyy too much of...) I decided to sneak off to a local bakery while he was at school and pick up a nice, reasonable 4-pack of cupcakes. Now, the closest option happens to be Weaver Street Market--a co-op that carries lots of organic, wholesome products--which besides their lovely bread-and-pastry section, also offers delightful coffee. Just sayin'...it was kind of a no-brainer. But imagine my shock when all I found in the case was an admittedly gorgeously-frosted set of...vegan cupcakes.

Knowing how much grief I'd endure from my loving Male Posse should I brazenly choose to bring these items into the house....I bought them anyway...then quickly stripped off the label and buried it in the garbage...and presented the treats with a smile. (Snickering on the inside at the thought of getting away with it...naturally...yeah, pun intended...) Aaaannnd...as I suspected, none of them had the slightest clue--the only comments revolving only around how richly chocolately they tasted. If you're counting, that's one more point for Mom...although in the Birthday Game, everyone's clearly a winner!

Whew! Now I can truly relax...'cuz the next one up in the Birthday Seat is...ME! By the way, no, thank you on the fish course, but feel free to get me some of those vegan cupcakes...please!

Little things that make me cringe for $1,000, Alex...

Let me just begin this message by stating: I'm well aware that my middle age years are about to become glaringly obvious. Also that some of my more...fanatical tendencies...will be blatantly on display. Oh, and not too many folks out there will sympathize, probably. That's all fine and dandy--I'm not gonna let it stop me from exercising my basic human right to embark upon an RoD. (Rant of the Day...yep, that's a thing...or at least it is now...feel free to have your own...you're welcome...) So, here goes:

I feel I must preface this by making it abundantly clear that I do love my child, and I think he's generally a delightful person. This being said, there are times when he reeeeaaalllly annoys me. (While I'm absolutely certain there's no possible way I EVER irritate him...hahahahaha!) Just as, you know, a random example, when he sends me a text message such as the following:

Now, he's right in his assumption that I understood perfectly well what he was trying to convey...and I suppose I can overlook the abbreviations...and lower case letters (notice that mine is correct, of course) but would it kill him to actually take the extra, oh, approximately 10 seconds to send a complete sentence? As for the complete omission of that modest, frequently overlooked and undervalued little device known as an apostrophe? Do. NOT. Get. Me. Started. I mean really, there's a fine line between the admirable goals of brevity and succinctness...and the not-so-esteemed quality of...laziness. One guess as to which side of the spectrum the teenager squarely falls on? (And by the way, it's a so-called Smart Phone, right? So don't give me any lame excuses about auto-correct. Um...you're the one with the higher intellect in this equation (allegedly), so teach the little computer the right way to do it...then it'll know better...DUH!)

And the thing is, he knows darn well it makes me nuts...yet he persists in doing it anyway...such as today's exchange:

I know I'm not the only old fogey to worry that texting is ruining this generation's ability to spell and punctuate correctly. However, while this was going on, Riley chimed in to share that his Language Arts class recently read an article from Scholastic Magazine about how kids who know how to use the common messaging acronyms perform better on vocabulary tests. Oh-kay...so the shorthand language he routinely employs to communicate electronically might actually be good for something, apparently. Fine. I still find the rest of it...kind of appalling.

I may have inadvertently stumbled upon a way to win this battle, though. When he returned home, Derek sought me out, with a sly grin on his face. "Riley told me you were mad about my texts," he said, without demonstrating even a shred of remorse. I gave him a scathing Mom Glare and retorted, "You just do that to provoke me, don't you?" "No," he protested mildly, "that's how I always text!" Thinking out loud, I countered with, "How about if I start ignoring your messages, unless you use apostrophes?" Unperturbed, he continued, smirking, "Then I'll just assume it's okay to stay at my friend's house."

"You'll be in trouble..." I started to contradict him, when suddenly the Brilliant Plan popped into my head. "I've got it: I'll start charging you a dollar for every time you leave out an apostrophe! What do you think about that?" I knew instantly that I'd struck gold--his mouth dropped open and he spun on his heel to leave the room indignantly, throwing back over his shoulder, "No! Mom, that's a terrible idea!" I called after his retreating back, "Well, would it make you do it the right way?" "Yes!" he growled defiantly...before firmly closing his door behind him with an unmistakably conversation-ending click.

Sooooo...I anticipate that the George Washingtons will just start piling up in the Coffee Fund...pretty much the minute I initiate...let's call it the "Apostrophe Tax". Mwah hah hah! Score one for the (well-caffeinated) Grammar Fiend...I mean "Mom"!

Feeling Springy...

One of the main reasons for Team WestEnders choosing a spot in a southerly direction to relocate was definitely climate...disgruntlement. (I may have--just possibly--mentioned this already...once...or a thousand times...) I, particularly, was fed up with (what felt like to me, anyway) frigid Winters that seemed to drag on forever, with too much of the freezing type of precipitation for my liking. So it struck me as veeerrrry amusing that when we moved down here and people found out we were "new", almost everyone took it upon themselves to immediately apologize for A) the steamy Summers (which only made me think, "Dude, we're from the swampy D.C. area; we can deal) and B) the frosty season (to which I didn't even bother to reply, just shook my head and snickered on the inside).

But in the next breath--almost as if they wanted to make it up to me for the bad news they'd sadly imparted--most of them then enthusiastically extolled the virtues of North Carolina Falls and Springs. Having now experienced the Autumnal period, I can add my endorsement for its glorious array of colors and pleasingly mild temperatures. Thus we find ourselves entering into our inaugural Spring as Chapel Hillians...and I am most pleased to report that we are indeed finding it all it's cracked up to be.

It's funny--folks start anticipating the unlamented departure of Winter, and its subsequent replacement with the preferred cousin...we'll call her...Verna...right around March 1st. It's as if everyone expects to flip the calendar page and have it magically usher in the arrival of flowers, balmy breezes, and rising mercury. Don't get me wrong, I jumped right the heck on this merry little bandwagon...Spring has always been my absolute favorite time of the year, after all. But I admit that I harbored some doubts as to just how realistic these tales were--it seemed like a bunch of wishful thinking to this skeptical transplanted Northerner.

And...whattya know...it happened just about like they said it would. Maybe not with a sprinkling of...fairy dust...on 3/1, or anything...but in the space of a week or so, daffodils popped up out of the ground. Even more of an eye-popping surprise were the trees--those that get decked out in lovely white or pink flowers burst into full bloom seemingly overnight. (I wish I could tell you what they're called, exactly, but my horticultural knowledge is...um, how should I put this...oh yeah: "nonexistent".) Then the other species', jealous of their showier brethren, and eager to participate in the landscape transformation...or some such nonsense...began budding as well. I'm telling ya, it swung from Winter drab to Spring spectacular in just a handful of days. Oh, and it also did warm up--not like "Johna can wear short sleeves", or anything similarly nutty--but enough so that I got all wild and....ditched the fleece layers. (Hey, it totally counts!)

On an unrelated note, I wouldn't consider myself a thorough chronicler unless I disclosed the warnings that have been shared with us also. (You know, like those annoying disclaimers on prescription drugs? But much less...potentially deadly...thank goodness.) For example, people have repeatedly cautioned us about the pine pollen that's due to show up soon. Apparently it is released in bucketfuls, and showers down as a fine yellow mist that not only coats everything stationary, but also can creep in under your garage door and through any gaps in your windows. Soooo, we're all looking forward to THAT. And honestly, I can be a pretty accurate predictor of the p-word, myself: remember those first, gorgeous petals that showed up? Yeah, my nose morphed into some kind of cuckoo-sneeze-factory at the same time. But it seems a small price to pay for the bounty of beauty surrounding us right now.

And finally, speaking of nature's gifts: you know it's really, truly Spring when the Farmer's Market switches back to their full Saturday morning hours, and reinstates the Wednesday evening session. Yep, that would be "today", kiddos. (Da da da DAAAA!) The growing season is evidently well underway, and fresh produce is starting to trickle in from area fields. So I can swing by there on my way home this afternoon and pick out some juicy strawberries and tomatoes...and as long as I keep remembering to do my daily nose-squirts to ward off the plant dust, it's all good. Yay, Spring!

Spring Break Scene

The Male Posse went to spend a few days with Husband's parents--or as the children like to think of it, "time to get spoiled...and fed...by Mimi and Pap Pap". I, of course, treasure my rare and special moments of peace and quiet while they're away. Although it's true that the house doesn't instantly, magically transform into a luxurious spa when the boys step out the door (Man, how cool would that be? I've gotta figure out how to make it happen one of these days...) it is still like a...mini-vacation...for me as well.

I mean, after the 72 loads of laundry the first day they were gone (Okay, okay, it was more like...4. But trust me, it felt like a whole lot more...) I get almost a total break from all of my daily chores. I mean, I'm certainly not gonna cook...for just ME. (Yeah, that's just crazy talk...) So my first order of business is to tidy up the house to its ultimate pristine condition. (Knowing it will stay that way for at least 72 hours--yaaayyy! Hey, it's the little thrills in life, right?) Then I move on to tackling those once-yearly, tedious, time-consuming, annoying tasks that I put off until I have absolutely nothing better to do...such as...cleaning out excess paperwork from the file cabinet...and wiping all the accumulated dust and grime from the fridge's shelves and drawers.

Finally, when all the To-Do items are checked off, I typically try to work in something just for fun...such as a Spring Break Field Trip. Without the time constraints of having to be back before the kids get home from school, I was thinking I could go somewhere more far-flung than usual....like, I don't know....maybe Charlotte! (I know, veerrrry exotic...) But then it occurred to me that we've lived here for 9 months now, and while I've pretty thoroughly explored Chapel Hill and Durham, I've never actually ventured just a wee bit farther...to Raleigh. (You know, the nearest metropolis...the capital city...that's oh, about 30 minutes away? Yeah, that's the one...) This seemed like an egregious oversight that needed to be remediated right away, so I did my little research-thing and made a list of several promising attractions I thought I'd like to see.

Now, one of the goals for these jaunts of mine is to photograph the historical landmark, or the natural scenery, or what have you. So when the day of my planned excursion dawned grey and dingy, it definitely put a damper on my agenda. "Oh well," I mentally shrugged, "it's not like this park/manor house/capitol building is getting up and going anywhere...there's always next week." Thus I addressed some of the other things I needed to get accomplished, and went about my business. However, I noticed at about 11:00 that the sun was striving valiantly to force its way through the dark blanket above me. The stiff breeze, meanwhile, seemed to be succeeding in swirling and thinning the stubborn clouds--so that in places, blue sky began to make an appearance. I watched this...atmospheric battle...with interest, but of course these things could easily go either way, so I didn't yet get my hopes up. But by the time I returned home with my grocery store purchases, the celestial star had clearly claimed victory...so I hastily packed up my stuff and headed out for a belated visit to the big city.

Since my time had been cut a few hours shorter than initially scheduled, I settled on one particular site: Oak View County Park. It is home to an old farmstead, with several of the original buildings still intact, and the newer addition of informational displays documenting North Carolina's agricultural past. (Which apparently can be summed up in two words: "cotton" and "tobacco". There, don't you feel more knowledgeable? I know I do...) One is free to study the educational material, wander about the lovely grounds, and tour several of the structures that are open for your perusal. The main living quarters are under renovation, empty of furnishings, and so only minimally engaging. But the Cotton Gin House--with its machinery, recreations of how it might have looked like when they were producing the crop back in the day, and of course helpful posters with all kinds of fascinating facts-- was totally cool. (For example, I learned more about boll weevils than one might possibly ever want to know...)

As for the natural portion of the afternoon, I enjoyed an up-close-and-personal view of the small cotton field that still remains on the property. I can honestly say that I'd never before seen the puffy white stuff during its growing process. And yes, it's pretty much exactly what it looks like: short bushes, covered in...basically what they call "cosmetic puffs" (probably because they're made out of synthetic fibers, these days)...just like you'd see in a plastic bag in the drugstore...but the real stuff is much softer to the touch. Then I meandered by the trio of goats who reside on the farm; they eyed me placidly while I lined up for a picture, but mostly ignored me, evidently deciding that their nibbles were much more enticing than whatever I was doing.

Finally, I strolled around the "pecan grove"...which I must admit I would have completely missed, had they not provided a sign that pointed the way. (Um...I wouldn't recognize a pecan tree...even if it started flinging nuts in my general direction...) According to the brochure, it's the largest such collection in Wake County, and is important because it represents crop diversification that became necessary after the devastating destruction caused to the cotton plants by that nasty boll weevil creature. Huh. Well then, consider my horizons suitably expanded...

And with that, my little farm interlude felt satisfyingly complete. Some nice walking...a dab of history...a wee bit of flora and fauna...not bad for a first stab at Raleigh, yeah? Just in time, too, since the Y-Chromosome Crew returns this afternoon. Then it's back to laundry and meal preparation and...household...nonsense. Hmm...I still have a couple of hours to squeeze in a NAP in the silent house before they get back. Win!

Life Skills in the Modern Age

My boys are currently soaking up some kiddie R & R, enjoying a week-long Spring Break from school. (Because hey, the two surprise, bonus weeks off in February for snow-related...nonsense...weren't enough, ya know?) They have homework, but they also have the gift of plenty of time in which to complete it. Which is good, because the last experience I had with "attempting to help my child do his best work"...turned into quite a standoff...a Battle of Scholastic Wills, you might say.

It started innocently enough--I was doing something on my laptop in the spare room when Riley showed up with his notebook, to sprawl out on the guest bed and work. In the interest of keeping the audience up-to-the-minute with play-by-play commentary (for which he is well-known) he informed me that he needed to compose a paragraph. (I don't recall the topic...or which class it was for...but I was totally paying attention, I swear!) He appeared to be industriously scribbling away for a while...until he paused to ask me, "How do you spell 'possession'?" Rather than instantly providing him with the answer (and so promoting laziness...and dependence...and...probably a host of other damaging academic and personal habits) I first asked, "How do you think it's spelled?"

He sighed in a rather "Oh, here we go again, Mom's being difficult" fashion and said, "I don't know...p-o-s-s-e...t-i-o-n?" (Hmm...good try...and actually, that combination of letters DOES make the right sound...if only English weren't so...random and ridiculous. Sorry about that, kiddo...) So I tried another tack. "Okay, how do you spell just 'possess'?" But at the end of a long day, he had limited patience for my little reindeer games, and just wanted to move on, so he refused to take a stab. I was therefore left with no other recourse than to resort to the tack my own father would have taken (um...make that "did take" ...many, many times in my youth, in fact...) so I shrugged and said, "Fine, you have two choices: write it down several ways to see what seems right...or look it up."

Now, in my mind, of course, "look it up" triggers flashbacks to the 20-pound Webster's that dominated about half a shelf in my parents' downstairs bookcase when I was growing up. You had to haul that sucker out, drop it on the floor at your feet (because you couldn't get it much further, really) and start turning enormous chunks of pages to get to the one teeny tiny little word you needed. Good. Times. But in my determination to "teach my son a lesson" I had totally forgotten that we don't even own (or..."possess"...hahahaha!) a dictionary in book form these days. So what did the 21st-century student do? He picked up his phone from the bed next to him, opened up his messaging app, and began the process of using the keyboard to Swype the word he wanted. Once he got a few letters in, he simply flicked his glance downward--to where the auto-correct program helpfully gave him choices, based on what it guessed what he was trying to say--and selected the right one.

Then he gleefully told me how he'd solved the problem and added with a sly grin, "I texted it to you so you could see it." Oh. Good. Grief. I don't know if I should applaud your resourcefulness...or condemn your smart-aleck attitude. Sigh. A little of both, I think. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to run spell-check on this post, to catch and correct my typing errors...then perhaps I'll text Riley the results, just for fun...

A lotta fun...in a little time...

You know those uncommon occasions when a crazy mish-mash of plans--involving complicated components like...traveling across state lines, 300 miles each way...communicating with an expansive cast of characters from various time periods and aspects of my life..setting up events in multiple locations...and squishing it all into 3 days--somehow, astoundingly comes together? Yeah, I just had a weekend like that.

The whole shebang got off the ground thanks to a Mom Friend--one of the original 8 who made up Derek's playgroup way back when the kids were infants. She contacted the gang to propose a surprise reunion, in support of another member who's going through a tough medical situation right now. Well, once the Wisconsin and Georgia contingents had committed, I knew there was no way I was going to let the villainous highway (that would be Route 95...specifically in Virginia...Fredericksburg, to be even more exact...or as it shall be known, the Pit of Despair) keep me from joining them.

After that was penciled in, I made it my mission to arrange a way to spend each breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a different group of people I wanted to see. When the dust settled, here's how it all went down:

Friday: leave Chapel Hill by 9:30 a.m. and drive like the proverbial bat out of you-know-where to try and beat that most dreaded of phenomena...Rush Hour in D.C. Once I was almost all the way to my dad's house, I stopped at Sugarloaf Mountain to meander through the woods for a while before finishing my trek. Then it was time for Pizza Night (a beloved tradition that began when I was in 10th grade, and needed quick sustenance between arriving home from field hockey practice and racing back to school to watch the varsity football game). After that, my sister, my niece and I headed out to the theater for a girls' movie date, watching the entirely entertaining Cinderella.

Saturday: return to the old hometown to meet up with an interpreter buddy from my former job. There was coffee, there was catching up and sharing news...it was lovely. From there I joined the Playgroup-Without-Kids for an emotional and awesome 5-hour lunch. Seriously, it's been a looooong time since we've been together....and some of us haven't seen each other in years...but it felt to me like no time had passed at all. Well....except for the fact that our eldest "babies" are now 15-year old 9th graders, of course! At one point the friend who had summoned us all laughed and noted, "Back in the day, it was all 'I'm not sure if my baby is nursing the right way'....and now we're picking each other's brains about stuff like Internet security and peer pressure!" And once again we marveled at how blessedly rare and special our circumstances are: a gaggle of women...basically thrown together randomly because our kids were all born at about the same time...who all like each other and get along like gangbusters. Can you get luckier than that? I think not...

But wait, we're still not done with Saturday yet. After the mommy bonding broke up, I motored northward towards my next engagement: dinner with some more dear friends in downtown Frederick. We were dining at a farm-to-table restaurant. (I know, right? Do these people know me or WHAT? And by the way, why not have one more social item on my agenda that revolves around a meal? Okay, in my defense, I took a brief detour on the way, in order to squeeze in a walk...scoffing at the 30*, with 20 mph winds...or shivering uncontrollably...whatever...)  So, a girl's gotta eat...might as well be a delicious portabella mushroom sandwich with some kind of fancy garlic mayonnaise and pesto...and a tart-cherry flavored ale, yeah? Some more yakkity yakking...a little NCAA basketball on TV...and it was time for a snooze-o-rama.

Which brings us to Sunday: one more coffee date before I blew the (almost literal--dang, it was frigid!)) Maryland popsicle stand. This one involved a college pal...to go along with the caffeine and conversation. After sharing the full scoop, if you will, on our respective families, we said "so long until Summer" and went our separate ways. For me, this meant crossing my fingers and imploring the Gods of the Open Road for my southbound path through the state-beginning-with-V to be a model of smooth sailing...rather than a parking lot. Thus it transpired that I made my way home...Big Gulp in hand, new memories saved, stories filed away to retell to Team WestEnders upon my return. It was the kind of getaway--where everything goes darn near perfectly--that only happens once in a long while. And I'm sure I'll appreciate it even more after I have a chance to rest and recover from the whirlwind!

Trouser Tales (?!)

Today we're going to talk about that most humble of garments...the one that we throw on every morning automatically...the article that quietly and faithfully covers our legs and protects them from the elements...the item for which no one even spares a second thought (unless of course they somehow forget to don them, but that's a whole other story...or recurring nightmare better addressed by a licensed therapist)...that's right, of course I'm referring to PANTS. Why, you might wonder, is this even worth mentioning? Well, believe it or not, the topic came up not once, but twice in the past couple of days in our household. (And also...it's been an otherwise slow news week, so you get what you get, okay?)

First we have Husband. Now, you might recall that when we moved to NC, his job became home-based. Thus he has a cozy office downstairs in what would be the "formal dining room" (if we were the sort of family that would ever use it as such...yeah, "workspace" seemed a much more reasonable way to re-purpose the area). This allows him the freedom to just roll out of bed, pull on a set of sweats, and consider himself ready for his professional duties. We have often joked that the colleagues and clients he IMs or teleconferences with not only can't see, but also couldn't care less how he's attired. But--all kidding aside--early on in his new work paradigm I set the incontrovertible House Rule that he must, at all times, at least be wearing a full outfit. After all, though he might be toiling away in the comfort of his own domicile, rather than occupying a desk in the company HQ building...this is still a No Nudity Job Site. (I know...this does seem to go without saying...but I still felt it needed to be crystal clear...just in case...)

Well, it just so happens that every once in a while he is called into the nearest actual-rather-than-virtual office (in Durham) for a meeting...or this week, Managerial Training...and Whatnot. So you'd think that after spending so many hours alone in front of his computer, he'd absolutely relish the opportunity to mingle with other human beings in person, right? And he probably does, but the only comment he made was a melodramatically anguished, "This means I have to...WEAR PANTS!" After I gently pointed out that, in fact, he does this every day (you know, since it seemed to have inexplicably slipped his mind...) he clarified, "Yeah, but...dress pants!" I admit I could not be held up as a shining pillar of wifely support when I snapped back, "Oh, you poor dear! Now go put on some nice clothes, get out of the house, and practice interacting with real, live adults for a change!" Oh, and...um...have a good day, honey...)

However, I was definitely more sympathetic when the 6th grader came to me with his dilemma. It seems he had to participate in a debate in Language Arts class, and his teacher very specifically instructed them to show up in--you guessed it--long pants. Riley expressed concern, because while jeans were deemed acceptable...he doesn't own any. He explained this to Ms. M, who assured him that windpants would be fine as well. Great, problem solved, right? Sure...except that there's a veeerrry fine line between "windpants" and "sweatpants"...and after both of us intensely scrutinized the contents of his drawer, we decided that what resides there falls squarely into the latter category. Fortunately I remembered that the solution lay mere steps away, in Riley's closet, where several pairs of hand-me-down pants hung neglected and all-but-forgotten. These were leftovers from Derek's season of attending about a dozen of his friends' mitzvahs--2 options: both black Dockers, one casual cotton twill, one fancier polyester/rayon/wool blend.

This raised a hue and cry from Riley, of course--"Ewwww! I don't waaaannnna wear dress pants!" (What are you, channeling your father? Suck it up for a couple of hours, dude! Oh, wait...I was being compassionate, right? Oops...) After reminding him that this was indeed his only choice...as I was not under any circumstances going to be traveling to a retail establishment to purchase him a pair of pants to wear for ONE DAY...I got him to try on the offending apparel. It's worth noting, here, that Derek wore these at age 13. And because he'd had a growth spurt already, I was forced to buy Size 16 to accommodate his height. Riley is 11--taller than his brother was at the same age, but just as lean. Aaannnnd...the cotton pair wouldn't button. But the second pair--lighter weight material, softer feel, with a more forgiving hook closure--fit him pretty darn perfectly. So after the obligatory whining about being required to tuck in his shirt (per the Debate Regulations, evidently)...there stood my middle schooler...looking bigger...and older....and waaaaay more grown up...than he should...or his mother was prepared for...(as usual...sigh...).

And that's far more hoopla...about pants...than you ever expected to occur in one family, yeah? I'm happy to report that Husband seems to be surviving his mandatory wardrobe restrictions this week. And Riley? Naturally he wore the Dockers to school, kept them on through his 2nd period debate presentation...then immediately crumpled them into a wad, stuffed them into his backpack, and swapped them for the shorts he'd stowed there in the morning. All is well...and back to normal...and we made it through the Great Pants Panic unscathed...whew!

Rabbit Food...and More

You could say I'm in the distinct minority in our house in several ways, being the only female as well as the only vegetarian. You might be surprised, however, by just how many chats the 3 carnivores and I have, around the topic of "plant-based nutrition". Some of these are quite simple...yet serious...such as me reminding Derek to include a piece of fruit in his afterschool Carbfest O'Rama at snack time. Others are downright ridiculous (as is probably inevitable in a house full of Male Humor...and believe me, I use that term veeerrrry loosely) like when Husband expounds upon the effect of asparagus on one's...ahem...."urinary odor and tint". (No, sadly I'm not making this up...terribly appropriate dinnertime banter, yeah?) And let's not forget the many, many discussions that have been waged, touching on the subject of "Oh, How We Loathe Tofu...Let Us Count the Ways". (Tragically, despite my concentrated and sincere efforts, I have been unsuccessful in converting the masses to an appreciation of fermented soybean products...)

Recently we've had a new reason to talk about nature's bounty. Riley's middle school participated in a promotion, whereby they would receive $10 each time a family signed up for a delivery service called The Produce Box. It's a Raleigh-based cooperative that supports area farmers by purchasing their crops and passing on the fresh, local, in-season fruits and veggies to the public....neatly packaged...and placed right on your doorstep. I had considered joining one of these years ago, in Maryland, but was reluctant to commit to it. Basically, I feared trying to figure out what to do in the Winter...when we would get a container full of, you know, turnips...and parsnips...and...who knows, maybe rutabaga? Not only is there a limit to what you can do with these items...I balked at the effort it would require to determine just how the heck to cook and serve these...for months at a time.

So one of the things that excited me about this particular company is that each Friday you are allowed to choose among a set of offerings, based on what your needs are for the coming week. For instance, you can get the regular group of stuff, which includes typical salad components (so far we've had grape tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce) as well as whatever else is currently growing either outside or in a greenhouse. (We're already getting some strawberries here, and the ubiquitous North Carolina staple: sweet potatoes. And next time we even get peanuts!) Or you can select the "adventurous option" which pledges to include more unusual stuff. And if you're just not feeling the fruit and veggie vibe that particular week, you can instead go for such cool alternatives as the Breakfast Box (with bagels and bacon--Husband lobbied HARD for this one next week), the Smoothie Box, or the Pizza Prep Box. In addition, if there's a food you don't care for in the group of items you do choose, you can swap it out for another item. Or at any time you can add in something that sounds good--loaves of bread, locally produced jams, chipotle lime goat cheese (which Riley and I practically drooled over) or of course any fruit or vegetable you need more of for any reason.

Well, this is just super-cool...not to mention all kinds of granola, tree-hugging fun, to browse the website and decide what will be showing up on your porch on Thursday. I mentioned before that it has sparked a pronounced increase in the amount of conversation...about edible flora. The first incident occurred when we were unpacking our initial box, and Riley spotted the lettuce. He read aloud, sputtering in disbelief, "Hydroponic...Bibb...lettuce? That's the silliest thing I've ever heard! What does that even MEAN?" (See there? Who knew vegetables could be so educational?) Then there was the argument--um "passionate exchange"--in which Husband vowed he would never, E-V-E-R eat a beet. No way would he even suffer it to pass his lips...no matter how I prepared it. Unfortunately, he indulged in his little rant in front of Derek....whom I assured that he would, in fact, be required to taste a beet...at least once...before making a rational decision as to how he felt about them.

Next we had the...Kale Conundrum. You see, kale was included in our first box, and I elected to keep it in, even though the rest of the family had a serious bias against the innocent leafy stalks. (How they had developed this, I have no idea, as again, they have little to no experience with actually consuming kale. So I blame it on Media Overkill--they've decided to hate kale because it's been so hyped...or whatever...) How to win them over to the Dark...Green...Side? Make kale chips, of course. And I'd have to say it worked like a charm: when Riley tried one, his eyes widened, and he went back for a handful. Then he declared, "Let's sub something out next week...and get more kale!" Wow. It just goes to show you, olive oil and salt really do transform even the most suspicious vegetable into a delectable treat!

Finally, we had the...Sweet Potato Problem. Again, the Male Posse isn't too fond of the orange tubers, while they've grown on me (ha! yeah, I accept responsibility for that one...) over time. However, tucked into our basket of goodness this week was a small piece of paper...with recipes. One of these happened to be for something called Sweet Potato CAKE. "Whoo hoo, now you're speaking my language!" I thought. When I shared the good news with Husband, though, he wrinkled his nose. "Potatoes...and cake? That just sounds so wrong!" I earnestly tried to help him understand by making a comparison, "You know, it's like...zucchini bread--you don't even taste the vegetable, and it's yummy!" He mulishly countered, "But....that's bread...and this is cake..." Exasperated, I cut him off, "It's the SAME CONCEPT!" In his most reasonable tone, he replied, "Then just tell me it's bread." Slapping my forehead, I conceded, "Guess what? I'm making sweet potato bread!" At which point he nodded smugly, turned on his heel, and headed upstairs. Sigh...

So I made the sweet potato...what have you...for tonight, since some of Derek's friends are coming over to watch the NCAA Tournament...and I figured there's no better group of people to spring something like this on than a ravenous pack of teenage boys. (I still contend that falls into the cake category due to the fact that I chose to frost it...because when faced with the dilemma of whether to slather on a layer of buttercream or not....well, there's really no question...) The consensus? Raves all around, from the Home and Visiting teams alike. There's no doubt I'll be making it again...but altering the recipe to be just a tad healthier. (Seriously, I thought I read it wrong when I saw 2 cups of sugar...gulp...and 1-1/2 CUPS of oil. What the what? Um...yeah...I think we can do a little bit better than that...)

But all-in-all, I'd say our first Produce Box could only be counted as a rousing success. From the nightly salad to the crispy kale to the sweet potato...baked good...we thoroughly enjoyed our harvest. Bring on next week's fruit and veggie extravaganza!

See? C-A-K-E!!!!