Growing Pains...and a Hurricane (ish)

This past week provided some of what you might call...Valuable Learning Experiences for Team WestEnders, whether by choice...or by having them thrust upon us. First off, there was the optional Junior Parent Meeting at Chapel Hill High School (which of course we didn't need to attend, since we've been at this "parenting thing" for quite a while now, so there's no WAY we can be considered "junior"...oh wait...I get it...never mind...).

Now, I'm the one who normally--okay, "always"-- shows up at these shindigs, collects the handouts, listens attentively to the presentations, takes copious notes, and returns home to give an oral summary on what I absorbed. However, this particular timeslot interfered with my new passion, PopUp Chorus, so I deputized...or, you know, "assigned"...Husband to go in my stead. (I can't say he was overly thrilled to be appointed, but since that turned out to be the night I was very ill, I couldn't have done any singing OR seminar...izing...anyway.)

Reportedly there were representatives from two of the three local universities (that would be the Friendly College Up the Street--UNC...and that other one...with 4-letters...that we decline to name...kinda like the Voldemort of our area--ha!) who shared information about the application process. The Counseling department also lectured on what 3rd year students should be doing--and when--in the whole upcoming season of "preparing for Life After Graduation".

One of their topics, naturally, centered around those dreaded exams-from-hell...you know what I'm talking about: diabolical SAT, and his evil cousin ACT. This was quite timely, since I'd signed Derek up to take a practice SAT on Saturday. (Yes, this would be one of those...ahem..."involuntary" events to which I was referring...) He accepted the fact that he would be getting up early and spending his entire weekend morning on a fairly unpleasant activity with good grace...mostly. His one, vehement comment when I told him about it was, "There had better not be any good college football games that I'm missing that day!" (Um...since even I know that they don't play at 10 a.m., you should be fine...but consider it "noted"...)

And Saturday, as it happened, was the day that we here in North Carolina received our portion of Hurricane Matthew...so it didn't really matter as much that he was spending a couple of hours inside while it poured...and gusted...and flooded...in the Great Outdoors. (Right...except for the whole "very long test" issue....but whatever...) One nice feature of this particular mock exam was that you got your scores right away when you finished--apparently the students themselves entered their responses online at the end, so they basically graded their own work! Therefore you left with some idea of your strengths, as well as the areas you might want to focus on when you prep for the actual one that gets reported to your preferred institutions of higher learning. All in the category of "very good to know".

With that out of the way, it was time to figure out how to spend an exceedingly rainy afternoon. Let's see...stuck indoors...time to kill...I know: might as well bake something...preferably under the heading of "decadent, gooey and cocoa-licios", yeah? This of course was not a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, given my current dietary guidelines. Nope, it took thought, and research, and a trip to the grocery store for provisions--but by the time the storm hit, everything was ready to go, for the creation of (drumroll) a Vegan...Flourless...Chocolate Cake.

C'mon, before you roll you eyes or dismiss it as sounding weird and unappetizing, keep in mind that I was super-excited about this; not only did the total lack of flour mean I didn't have to deal with purchasing and substituting almond or rice or some other kind for the usual (non-gluten-free) wheat, but this recipe didn't call for any eggs (or, as I like to call them: My Arch-Nemesis). Total WIN, y'all! To my surprise, when I asked Riley if he'd like to get in on this creative cooking session, he readily agreed. (Thanks to the Middle School elective he chose last year...Family and Consumer Science...what we used to call good old Home Ec back in the olden days...he's seems much more enthused about...culinary concocting. Yay!)

So we measured, and mixed, and melted...and then when I finally got to the bottom of the page and read the last instruction...it said to allow the finished product to chill...OVERNIGHT...before serving. Dude! Clearly, you (shadowy Internet chef person) haven't met us--we don't possess anywhere NEAR the kind of patience...or self-restraint...for that kind of...nonsense. So we decided to give it a couple of hours--until after dinner--and then take our chances. (I mean, it's chocolate cake, not brain surgery...what could possibly go wrong?) And you know what? It was utterly DIVINE. Okay, so it was kind of a cross between a thick pudding and a cake, but you could not ask for more over-the-top chocolateness. (Now if I only had a blast chiller, like they always show in the Chopped kitchen on the Food Network...hey, Christmas is coming, right? Hmmm...)

Okay, now we arrive at: Derek. He had asked me--maybe the week before--if it was okay for him to go to the UNC football game with friends who had tickets. At the time I'd given permission, but obviously that was looking reeeaaally...ill-advised...in the current conditions. Even the night before, when we'd revisited the topic, he'd stubbornly insisted that they were still going. I'm not honestly sure if he didn't believe me about the forecast, or if he was just consciously choosing that blissful state known as Denial, but I finally dropped the subject in exasperation, since we were butting heads and getting nowhere.

In the morning when I brought it up again, however, in the indisputable face of the driving rain and howling wind outside the house, he laughed and said, "Oh, I'm not going!" (I resisted the urge to throw something (soft) at him...although it wasn't easy...can I get an Attagirl from my fellow moms out there, for not punishing the ridiculous behavior of my adolescent son ? Thankyouverymuch...)

But after he returned from his testing adventure, he relayed that some of his buddies were, in fact, planning to show up at the game. I'm sorry, WHAT? Have your formerly rational, intelligent pals suddenly lost their ever-loving minds? Which part of "hazardous driving conditions", "meteorological warnings from the National Weather Service" or...SOAKING WET UNDIES sounds appealing to you people? And can I just tell you the boatload of grief he gave me for even suggesting that he might be forbidden to go?

I'm not kidding, he actually pulled out this line as a fundamental part of his argument, "Mom...you're preventing me from having stories that I can tell my grandkids one day!" (Sheesh! How uncharacteristically melodramatic...) Let me be the first to share something with you, my child: just because something is dangerous and stupid does not necessarily make it a stellar memory. (Weeeeellll....sometimes, yes, but that doesn't support my side of the disagreement, so SHHHHH!)

He got a little persnickety with me about the fact that I was squashing his inalienable right...to go out and be an idiot...or whatever...but meanwhile I was wondering: what's up with these other parents that are evidently just blithely permitting their kids to go sit in the stands during hurricane-fallout...to watch a silly football game? Seriously? (So, I guess I'm the hard-ass on the block. Eh, I'm totally comfortable with that.) Anyway, one of the other guys finally regained his senses and came to the conclusion that he didn't want to go, either, so in the end Derek got together with 2 other friends to do some sports viewing in front of a big TV...with snacks....and need I mention: completely warm, dry clothing.

So there you have it. another week of boys being boys...and their loving Mom and Dad trying their best to keep them on the straight and narrow...and out of the storm (yes, sometimes literally). Today I'm happy to tell you that in the After-Matthew (ha!) we're being treated to blue skies, Fall temperatures, and bright sunshine. And whatever the coming week brings, I know I can whip up an awesome vegan, gluten-free treat to help me get through it...and even send Derek out (safely!) for some whipped cream, if necessary! Mmmmm......it's all good!

When good medicine goes bad....

Sooo…I’m recovering today from a rather…interesting…night. (And no, I don’t mean in the same outrageously wild and fun way I experienced in my 20s…tragically….) My best guess at this point is that I suffered a reaction—or in layman’s terms “grossly unpleasant and fairly painful episode”—related to the flu vaccine I got earlier this week. (I know, right—how weird is THAT? Only me, folks…)

You see, for the past…oh, more than a decade, I’d say…I’ve opted for FluMist over an injection. While I’m not needle-phobic by any stretch of the imagination, my rationale has always been that I’d much rather have a quick, easy squirt in the nose over an equally fast…but ouch-y…shot in the arm. However, when I asked about it this year, the boys’ pediatrician informed us that the CDC was not allowing distribution of the nasal version, due to its being found “ineffective”. Well…dang it! And thanks in advance for the sore arm, you…heartless government agency… (Yeah, yeah, "whose job is to protect the public with the best and most current medical information" and all that...whatever, don'tcha know this is all about MEEEEEE?)

Therefore Derek, Riley and I went to CVS to bravely suck it up and get it over with on Monday afternoon. Now, you know the standard list of questions they always give you before they consent to jab you with a sharp object--are you pregnant/sick/blah blah blah? I usually skim right over those, barely registering them, ticking off the “No” box without giving it much thought. This time, though, one of the queries gave me pause: are you allergic to eggs? Hmmm…the short answer is no…not technically, anyway…but thanks to the naturopath, we’ve figured out that I’m at least sensitive to them. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided it would…probably…be fine, and completed the form.

And afterwards, all seemed well--there were no immediate discernible effects, outside of the usual tenderness in my upper arm. The next day, however, rather than dissipating, the discomfort seemed to be spreading. And then, around lunchtime, I developed a headache that I can only describe as vice-like….while somehow throbbing at the same time. Oh, and then my stomach got into the act as well, becoming alarmingly queasy. It was altogether freakin’ delightful, I tell ya. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’m rarely ill—and even when I do catch something, my digestive system is NEVER involved, so this was very disconcerting…on top of being disagreeable. Or, if you’d prefer a picture: it quickly degenerated into a “curl up in a ball under a blanket and whimper” kind of situation.

Before succumbing to the misery, I took a quick minute to consult Dr. Internet by Googling “reaction to the flu vaccine”. Besides the universal “achiness”,  headache (check) and nausea (oh, yeah) were also mentioned. Furthermore, as if I needed additional proof, that…um…”intestinal  symptom”…that shows up so clearly when I eat eggs? Yeah, it made an unwelcome appearance as well. All of this led to a sleepless, extremely unhappy night…right up until about 3:30 a.m., when I finally felt my stomach had calmed down enough to be trusted with some Ibuprofen—which helped to  knock out the monster headache, allowing me to fall asleep at long last….for a couple of hours at least.

Today, the worst of the storm seems to have passed. I feel relatively back to normal--albeit exhausted, a little weak and woozy from lack of food and rest…and my appetite hasn’t rebounded yet, either. I suppose…if I had to choose… 12 hours of adverse consequences outweighs the week-long disaster that the actual influenza virus brings if you contract it. BUT…I already looked it up, and they’ve just recently developed an egg-free alternative vaccine. If I can find that anywhere near me, I might have to make that happen next year. Fingers crossed…for now, please excuse me while  I go make some hot tea and (gluten-free) toast!

A Soccer Saga

Derek first started playing organized soccer when he was about 6 years old. When we signed him up, the local league placed him on a team comprised mostly of other kids from the elementary school he attended, as they were wont to do. His assigned coach happened to be the father of a boy Derek already knew from class…and the rest is history. From that point forward, we registered him in the Spring and Fall and requested the exact same coach. As for the kids, there was a core group of soccer enthusiasts who stuck with it, like Derek, and they literally grew up on the field together. It was a fun-loving, tight-knit bunch--who learned a whole lot about the Beautiful game, of course, but also about sportsmanship, fair play, being a good teammate, and other intangible, invaluable Life Lessons.

It just so happened that our move to North Carolina coincided with Derek and his friends aging out of that particular organization anyway, so his Maryland recreational soccer career would have ended one way or the other. We then had to figure out how to navigate the complex Wide World of Sports in Chapel Hill…which involves multiple tiers of competition and a befuddling array of options.  Almost by trial and error, we ended up getting Derek a tryout with a team that was short a few players and looking to fill up their roster.  The coach offered him a spot, and so we entered the unfamiliar new realm of Triangle United.

It turned out to be an extraordinary stroke of luck that Derek landed with this gang—another personable group of boys who enjoyed laughing and goofing around together as much as they did kicking a ball and running.  And their fearless leader—a massage therapist by day, if you can believe it—turned out to be someone who worked them hard, and certainly would not hesitate to yell when he thought it necessary…but also let them have FUN. Derek would routinely come home from practice sweaty, exhausted, and famished…but also grinning broadly about the time he’d spent on the pitch with his buddies, and with amusing stories to share about their exploits. In short, he not only improved as a player during his time on that team, but enjoyed the heck out of that year, as well.

The following season, however, was not so charmed. Yes, he was selected for the same squad…but many of his former teammates had either been chosen by other coaches to fill holes in their lineups, or had decided not to play for whatever reason. Also, his former coach wasn’t available (we think he was getting married—a very good excuse!) so they were assigned a different one. Therefore, not only was the team chemistry non-existent…the new coach proved to be a stern…humorless…hmmm, how should I phrase this…pretty downright negative person.

Fairly early on, I got an unfavorable impression of him just from the tone of his emails, but even more evidence came from Derek, who reported that this guy’s “teaching style” (if you can call it that) tended toward reprimands, insults, and punishment as his way of…I’m really not sure…maybe motivating them? Anyway, it didn’t fly with Derek—or probably with any of the other young men, either.  As you can guess, the result was that Derek did NOT have what you might call a “good experience” in his second season at Triangle—which is truly a shame when you’re putting in as much time, effort, and commitment as they require.

But, even coming off a less-than-stellar campaign, Derek didn’t hesitate to attend tryouts for the next year, which Triangle always holds immediately after the Spring season ends. Once again he was notified that the recommendation was for him to continue with the same team…although he figured out that he knew only one other person from the previous year…and there would be yet another new coach. Nevertheless, we sent in the registration check to secure his roster spot--and that’s about it, as nothing else happens for this age group until closer to November. However…noticing that I’d placed a sticky note on the calendar to remind me that another installment payment was due on October 1^st, Derek approached me on Friday and uttered the dreaded words: “I need to talk to you about something.” (Uh-oh…bracing self for something bad/scary/infuriating…expensive? Gulp…)

Apparently, he’d been doing some thinking (always somewhat of a dicey proposition from a teenage boy…am I right?), and had come to the conclusion that…he didn’t want to play for Triangle anymore. (Pause to allow time for mouth falling open, brain reeling, heart pounding, hyperventilating—yes, of course I’m referring to myself! Okay, continue…) He went on to explain that, with the school term having begun, he didn’t think he was going to be able to manage 3, 90-minute practices a week (each one an hour round-trip commute), plus all the travel to games on weekends (at stadiums at least an hour distant)…on top of all the demands of his Junior year courseload (which he was just realizing was going to be quite rigorous). 

Clearly, he’d been planning his attack—um “approach”, because he even threw in how much money Husband and I would save by not having to pay for the Triangle fees, mandatory uniform items, team charges, tournaments…etc. Finally, with all that being said, he also admitted that he just didn’t think it was worth it, given how much drudgery…and little entertainment…had been involved in the previous season.

And you know, I get it, I really do. There’s no point in working your butt off to participate in a sport…if it’s not rewarding as well. All of his points were absolutely valid—the finances (considerable); the travel burden (major); the time commitment (extensive); the desire to focus on academics. (admirable. And by the way: Yay! You certainly know how to appeal to your mother…well played, son!) I didn’t disagree with any of them…yet I still wanted to burst into tears when he was relaying all this information to me. (Yeah, yeah, I don’t do that. But trust me, I was crying on the inside…) I mean, I’ve been watching this kid sprint around a field for a decade, playing a game that brought him great joy, with talent and skill…and while I had already started to at least try to steel myself for the Team WestEnders Soccer Era coming to an end…I thought I still had a few years left before I actually had to go through the painful withdrawal.

So…is this what it’s like when your children grow up a little bit, and want to take some matters into their own hands, rather than being content to allow Mom and Dad to control every aspect of their lives? What’s that you say? It’s a normal, healthy, and positive part of their development and their eventual growth into independent, successful adult human beings? Well, that’s all very well and good…but let me just say: it SUCKS…and I HATE it. (Obviously this is only my initial reaction…it’s gonna take me a minute—or, you know, a looong while--to adjust…I’ll get back to ya…)

And I do realize that at 16, Derek is plenty old enough to consider his alternatives and make some choices that affect him…especially when he’s taken the time to think things through, and present his argument in a rational way. And I also recognize that I need to give him kudos for that, and--after talking it over with him so we make sure we’ve covered all the bases--accept his final decision gracefully. Siiiggghhh.  At least I can take comfort in the fact that Riley is happily involved with his new team, so I won’t be entirely soccer-deprived this year. I’ll just have to bond with Derek over other topics…such as how, with all of his newfound free time, he can accompany me on the twice-monthly Costco runs. (Hey…that might even push him back toward wanting to take up a sport, just to avoid the Warehouse Chaos…mwah hah hah!)

Sometimes, you have to eat and run (and it's all good...)

You know the kind of weekend that, when it's over, you feel like what you reeeeallly need is another day off...to actually rest up from all the fun? Well, last weekend was one of those, for me. It started with Bonus Family Time--one of Husband's cousins and her daughter were visiting Chapel Hill to tour UNC, which she's considering as a prospective college choice when she graduates next year. So his OTHER cousin, who moved here about 6 months before we did and lives across town from us, hosted everyone at her house for dinner on Saturday night.

(You might recall that I sent my boys out to the grocery store to obtain a few key ingredients I was lacking for several dishes? Yep--this is the reason. I know, I know: when one volunteers to make pasta salad and bring a dessert, one should also make sure she has all of the necessary components, right? But really, what are kids for? Especially those who can now drive themselves to the market and take care of thankless errands for their beloved mother...)

So, there was college football watching (mostly Derek and Riley), chatting and catching up on family events and whatnot (primarily the adults), and much eating (well...everyone). We also made plans for Cousin and Daughter to meander toward the Team WestEnders part of the area on Sunday evening for another meal, so we could show her our neighborhood and the adorable little 'burb known as Carrboro.

But first, there was a 5k that some of us needed to conquer. This was somewhat of an odd situation: the race was originally scheduled for early June when we registered, and it was perfect because at that time of year, it didn't conflict with any soccer shenanigans whatsoever. As it turned out, however, Riley's injury happened literally days before the event, so he wouldn't have been able to participate. Then, for some reason, the organizers changed the date entirely, moving it to last Sunday. Even better, since it's not the dead heat of Summer anymore, they set the start time for 2 p.m. Plus, the park where it was still being held is a scant 10 minutes from our house. Easy peasy.

That just left the question of whether Riley felt ready to tackle several miles of continuous running, which he hadn't done since he broke his leg. Now, he's been diligently doing his p.t. sessions, keeping up with his stretching and strengthening exercises at home, and logging interval workouts where we alternate periods of jogging and walking...but this is obviously not the same as pounding the pavement for a half-hour at a time. When asked directly, he expressed uncertainty and doubt about being fit enough to make it work. But I sort of...encouraged/pushed...him to think about giving it a shot....pointing out that he could just as easily do his interval sequence on the course, since at every 5k we do, we always see quite a few people walking the entire length anyway.

And then, his brother stepped up to volunteer to stick with him, so he could both keep a comfortable pace, and have some company. (Yay, Sibling Power!) With that, and also these facts: it wasn't the typical "wake up/scarf some food/go run, groggily" situation...the weather wasn't disgustingly hot...and the setting was local and familiar...Riley was persuaded to make an attempt. As usual, the youngsters set off much more quickly than my shorter...older legs would allow, so I did what I always do--maintain my own stride, which is steady, and placed somewhere firmly in the middle between "snail" and "hare". (Hey, it's worked for me for DECADES, what can I say?)

What we didn't know until we started was that they had the course set up as an out-and-back, not a circular loop. Soooo...that very first steep downhill portion, to kick off the action? Yeah, that would come back to bite us...and by that I mean "me"...in the tushie at the end. In fact, I quickly discovered that the path was pretty much sloped downward on the way out...and therefore obviously reversed in the second half. Seriously? Whose brilliant idea was that? Someone who was NOT running, I daresay...

But, having caught onto that at the outset, I knew I had to do my best to keep something in the tank for the final push. Nevertheless, those last several uphill climbs took it out of me, despite my...energetic intentions. I had (to my surprise) actually passed my sons during one of their walking phases, but I could sort of hear them behind me--just a little bit out of earshot. Meanwhile, I could feel myself plodding along, slowing down...so I got busy giving myself a silent pep talk: you can do it...almost there...no quitting now! And then...within yards of the Finish Line, with a gleeful bellow...my precious children barreled past me, sprinting for all they were worth...just so that they could beat me. (BRATS! You're both grounded!)

Actually...I have to admit it was pretty hilarious. Here's how we ended up:

20  Westman, Derek: Pace 09:26 Time 29:14.72
21  Westman, Riley: Pace 09:26 Time 29:15.97
22  Enders, Johna: Pace 09:27 Time 29:18.72

That's out of 70 total runners, so not too shabby. And YES, I realize that their average pace was the same as mine, even though they were walking part of the time....whippersnappers. What's even funnier, to me, at least, is that I ended up 3rd in my age group. For the First. Time. E-V-E-R. Of course, there were only 13 people in my bracket--but so what? I'll take it for the "W"! (As a matter of fact, I feel faster already--whoo hoo! Okay, that little adrenaline rush is over...I'm calmer now...)

Whew--we had earned our supper! Cousin and Daughter joined us a bit later, and we took them into Carrboro, where the annual Music Festival just happened to be in full swing. Crowds of people strolled the sidewalks, enjoying the pleasant evening and taking in the open-air concerts that were set up throughout town. Fortunately, one of our favorite eateries had space for us, so we got to sit down right in the thick of things and savor our meal while being serenaded by the strains of songs wafting in through the door whenever a customer or server opened it. Lovely.

All-in-all, it was a busy, tiring, but super-entertaining weekend...the only possible downside being that there wasn't nearly enough time in the mix...for NAPPING. Never fear: here we are at Hump Day, so we're over halfway to the end of another work week. I'd better get right on the Team WestEnders Agenda...so I can pencil in some "do absolutely nothing" time for Saturday...or Sunday...before it's too late!

Money money money MO-NEY

Remember when I joked about how excited I was to have the opportunity to send the freshly-licensed-to-drive Derek out on a silly quest to pick up something I forgot at the supermarket? Yeaaahhh...I should know better than to jinx myself like that. You see, I was sooo pleased to find a tasty-sounding baking mix at Whole Foods--one that also didn't contain gluten, or any of the other myriad ingredients I'm supposed to continue to avoid for the time being--that I neglected to read the directions, to find out what one needed to add to it, to make the magic dessert...ness...happen.

In short, it called for a stick of butter, which we typically don't have in the house. Oh, and also vanilla, which I discovered we only had a few drops of left in the container. And...since he was going anyway, I figured he could pick up some capers, for me to toss into the pasta salad I was making for that night. What a strange list, right? Especially for a teenage boy who is pretty darn near unfamiliar with shopping--I mean, sure he's accompanied me plenty of times...but he's never been "in charge" before. So really, this could be the biggest lifesaver ever...or--equally likely--an unmitigated disaster.

At least his sibling offered to tag along--either for moral support, or to watch and laugh while the spectacle unfolded, I'm not entirely certain which. I even had to wake the High Schooler up...on a Saturday...to accomplish this task. (Hey, CAKE waits for no one, I always say....or....maybe I'll make it my new personal motto, starting now? Whatever, the boy needed to get out of bed, that's my point...) As he sleepily crunched his cereal, I did my best to explain exactly what I wanted, and approximately where it was located in the store. (Riley had already written it all down--naturally.) Then I handed him some money, wished him good luck, and sent him on his way (with fingers firmly crossed).

Oh, and there was one other teensy little wrinkle: they were under time constraints, since Husband needed his car back in about a half-hour to leave for his soccer game. So, no pressure or anything. I watched the minutes tick by...creeping closer to the deadline...and finally they barreled back in the door, triumphantly waving their supplies (in a reusable bag that they'd remembered to take in--extra points for that, young men--well done!). Butter: check. Capers: yep. Vanilla: mmm...yessss...but did you absolutely HAVE to buy the $7 bottle? "We were in a hurry...and it was the cheapest one!" they claimed. (I looked the next time I went to that particular store, and the one they'd chosen was directly beside one that cost less...but for their initial foray into the world of "picking things up for Mom" it was still an acceptable mission completion.)

But wait--there was still more learning to be done in the financial field this weekend--Derek had requested a tutorial on how to actually use his new debit card to make purchases and retrieve funds from the ATM. Alrighty, then, my son(s); let's do this thing! First we stopped at a cash machine, since Derek had run out of "walking around money" anyway. I talked him through inserting his card, entering his PIN, and selecting the options for "withdrawal" and "print receipt". Everything was going so well...right up until the stupid thing spit out a piece of paper that read "unable to process"...with NO crisp twenty dollar bill. Uh-oh. That made both of us nervous, as it was the first attempt to access his account electronically--and it'd failed miserably.

But we here at Team WestEnders are nothing if not persistent...and by this of course I mean "impossibly stubborn"...so were we going to be deterred by this admittedly-annoying but hopefully-temporary setback? We were NOT.  Next, we tried a gas station quickie-mart, to see if Derek's uncooperative piece of plastic would allow him to treat us to some frosty beverages. The boys chose their Gatorades...I filled up a mondo-Diet-Pepsi (it'd been that kind of day)...and we approached the counter with collectively-bated breath. This time, I got to instruct him on the chip-reader checkout procedure,..aaannnd....success! He now possesses the skills to approach any convenience store scenario with confidence in his abilities...to pay for snacks. (That's falls under the heading of Valuable Life Skills, doesn't it? Look it up--I think it's in the Road Trips chapter...)

Since that had gone so swimmingly, we decided to give the ATM another try, at a different branch. I'm happy to report that in this case as well, his card worked just fine--so I have no idea what was up with the other one's bad attitude. Riley hadn't wanted to bring his own card on this trip, but he paid close attention and--knowing him--took copious mental notes, so that when it's his turn to pay for something, he'll be ready. Now all we have to do is set them up with the daily text alerts, so they're aware of what their balance is at all times...and they'll be ready to spring upon the world at large.

Speaking of which: I've been informed that they have Big Plans for this in the near future, so maybe I should also call the fast food joints in our area and warn them the W-brothers are coming? On second thought, nah...where's the fun in that? (At least I can say, "My work here is done"...for now!)

More hallowed halls of learning...and whatnot

Lest I forget to mention it, I also attended the High School's Open House this past week. Derek wondered if I was planning to go, to which I answered something along the lines of "Duh--have you MET me?" He told me the reason he'd asked was that his Social Studies teacher had shared that he "didn't think too many parents of Juniors actually showed up". Well...geez Louise. Now I was feeling paranoid and...a little bit nervous...imagining I'd be the only person sitting at each instructor's presentation, looking like that painfully eager, super-awkward nerdy kid in class. (Thanks, son. Need I tell you that your mother doesn't need that kind of stress in her life?)

But I needn't have worried--after all, this is high-achieving Chapel Hill, where even the parents of Upperclassmen continue to be involved in the academic world of their offspring. Pshew! Not only was I far from alone in each period, I ran into some neighbors and soccer friends whose sons share classes with Derek this year. So, while we did have to recreate a shortened version of our kid's full academic agenda, Periods 1-7--which I always find frankly exhausting--at least we got to socialize while doing so...much like our children, come to think of it. Very authentic experience, then.

Oh, riiiiight: what about his actual subjects? First off, when he got his schedule he was somewhat surprised, and very pleased, to discover that it contained exactly what he'd selected. Naturally, some of his academic courses were a given--such as his English, Math, and Social Studies. Unless you opted for an AP version, you got into whichever 11th grade level you'd chosen, and that was the end of it. Derek also wanted to continue his streak of including a Study Hall (Done), and to sign up for the second class in the Principles of Biomedical Science series, since he'd enjoyed the first one so much last year (evidently it's so popular that they offer multiple sections, so this was an easy one to get as well, fortunately).

Really, that left the only wild card as AP Biology--which he was quite keen on taking, given that it was taught by the same man who'd lent his...unique...wisdom and....style to Derek's Freshman Bio class. However, rumor had it that over a hundred students were clamoring to get into the course, so Derek feared they'd be forced to fill the slots with Seniors, and make Juniors put it off. I pointed out to him that it seemed to be in the academic institution's best interests to allow as many scholars as possible to take such a rigorous and advanced class--and hopefully score well on the exam--to shine a positive light on the school's achievement. "Look at all of our smart students! Aren't they wonderful? Many colleges will want them, yeah?" It's a classic Win-Win, I tell ya.

Maybe I was onto something, because Derek did indeed get into the AP Bio Lecture/Lab...along with two of his closest friends from down the street. Uh-oh...all I can say about that is: thank goodness the instructor is A) tooootally laid-back and B) a bit of a goofball, himself. Even so, I envision a year full of...hmm...barely controlled chaos? At least it's not Chemistry, so presumably there won't be opportunities to...blow stuff up (fingers crossed).

That was another somewhat unusual thing about this Open House: besides Mr. Bio, I also was already familiar with Derek's BioMed and Math teachers, since he'd had them last year. Heck, even his Study Hall proctor was familiar...from Freshman World History. That left only American Lit and U.S. History as new-to-us--and both made suitably favorable first impressions on me. Other than that, the most-repeated mantra of the evening related to the DEMANDS of Junior year...which was not exactly "breaking news" to me at this point, given the fact that helpful parents who've been down this road before us had already begun warning us to batten down the hatches and prepare for the possibility of a long, tough, bumpy ride.  (Um...yaaayyy? Yeah...NOT...)

So here we are, admittedly only a couple of weeks in, but the seas are calm so far. (Knocking on...glass computer desk...it'll have to do--it's in the spirit of the superstition, so it still counts, right?). Now, Derek is signed up (grudgingly...thanks to his mother...and by the way, you'll thank me later, so you're welcome, my dear!) to take both the free ACT and SAT practice tests in the next few weeks. And if I had to guess, I suspect that might be the catalyst for...stuff...to begin to get very real, very quickly after that. At least MY school visitation duties are D-O-N-E for another term....do I get a gold star, or what? (Honestly, I'd settle for some chocolate...) Ready? Let's do this!

Driving Mr. Derek

As I explained back at the beginning of this odyssey, in North Carolina a teenager can obtain their Learner's Permit the day they turn 15, if they so desire (and their parents are brave enough). They must then have it for a period of one full year (counting from whatever day they actually do pass the written exam and get it), accruing 60 hours of supervised practice along the way, before they can take the road test to earn their Provisional License.

Okay, so Team WestEnders was a little bit sloooow in kicking off the process--Derek didn't even get into the school-sponsored Driver's Ed classroom session until May of last year, after his birthday had come and gone. And it took another month to get on the schedule for the behind-the-wheel portion. Besides, it seemed there were always other obligations taking up all available time--homework...and soccer...and...whatnot--so somehow JULY snuck up on us before we actually got around to storming the good old DMV. And then...the rest of the Summer passed by, without a whole lot of Derek clamoring to go out and...ahem..."put rubber to the road", as it were.

Then, of course, school and sports started back up again, limiting his free time...but truthfully, even when he had golden opportunities--such as the thrice-weekly practices we had to haul his butt to all Winter--he just...didn't seem to care all that much. That it, until his 16th birthday came around...and some of his friends started getting their little plastic tickets to freedom...and he suddenly became verrrry keen to hurry up and log those hours.

Therefore, all Summer we made it our collective (Temporary) Life's Mission to ride around in the passenger seat with Derek, every chance we got. We need to go to Costco? Derek's the chauffeur. Church on Sunday and errands afterwards? Yep--hand over the keys. He even got to take a shift on road trips to South Carolina and Atlanta, to focus on building stamina and maintaining attention for extended jaunts. And oh-so-gradually....the hours began to add up.

When the carefully handwritten tally on the log sheet finally approached the magic number, it was time to think of the next step...spending more precious moments at the beloved Department of Motor Vehicle...Torture (the unspoken, but understood, part of the official name). One of Derek's friends, when I asked his opinion, told me unequivocally that making an appointment to take the exam was an absolute MUST, to avoid wasting ridiculous amounts of time waiting around for your turn.

Good to know--so I took him at his word, promptly called our local office...and got that obnoxious "busy signal" tone that I probably haven't heard in...decades? (Seriously, I didn't think that function even existed anymore, thanks to automated systems and voicemail. What the WHAT?) This happened during regular business hours...and repeatedly, at various times that I tried. Oh....kay...clearly, "answering phone calls" is NOT one of the services offered by the DMV.

FINE (she said with dripping sarcasm) I'll just show up at the front desk and politely request a slot for Derek. Yeaaahhhh....right....the first time I did a drive-by, I saw throngs of people spilling out of the (admittedly tiny, but still) lobby, onto the sidewalk. No. Thank. You. I slowed down, but ultimately kept moving. I went through this same absurd routine maybe twice more before I hit a time when I decided there were few enough other victims--um "customers" to risk actually, you know, parking the car and venturing into the fray.

It looked promising--sure, the seats were mostly filled by people clutching their little paper numbers and waiting to be called to the back...but there were only 3 other folks standing in a short line to be triaged at the (one and only) service desk. I installed myself at the end...then noticed that there wasn't an actual human being manning (or woman-ing, whatever) the station. This was not what you might call a "good sign", yeah? I remained there...shifting from one foot to the other...looking around for a clue from the other patrons as to what the heck was going on in this shoddy operation...becoming rapidly and increasingly more impatient...before giving up after 10 minutes or so of being ignored, and leaving in a (quiet) huff...again.

Well...this was just freakin' unacceptable. Drastic measures were obviously called for, immediately--so one day I woke up before I usually do, got ready for work in an all-fired hurry, and hightailed it over to the office, hoping to synchronize my arrival as closely as possible to the time they opened the doors. Eh, I was in the ballpark ("first thing in the morning" not being among my favorite time periods, and "punctual" not being in my genes), showing up at about 8:05.

And whattya know: by 8:15 or so, I had spoken with the surprisingly pleasant customer service individual (I know it was early, and she hadn't been forced to handle much conflict yet, but if I were her, dealing with a long day of very likely disgruntled, belligerent and/or confused people, I'd surely slap someone...and be fired, so that would be the end of that...which would be for the best, really..."managing the public" is soooo not my thing..) and procured an appointment--for only 2 weeks out, which was an unexpected bonus.

It turned out that the "first appointment" was in the middle of the school day...aaannand would possibly interfere with his first AP Biology exam...but this seemed like a "let your teacher know what's up" and "write a note for an excused absence" situation if I ever saw one. Then it was just a matter of finishing up those last few practice hours...and admonishing Derek to try (for the love of...everything) not to forget all the skills he'd learned before the test rolled around.

On the actual...D-day (of a sort)...I wished him good luck and went to work, keeping my fingers crossed all morning. He had assured me he wasn't nervous...but that's just Derek, who is easygoing to the hilt. Me? I was on pins and needles. Also, the conditions weren't the best--after months of dryness, it had been raining heavily for a couple of days, causing dark grey skies, reduced visibility, and some pretty substantial puddles of standing water. But...I'm happy to report that it all worked out, as the text came in a short while later from Husband, reporting that Derek had successfully passed, and was in possession of his first real license. Well, a paper copy, at least--they mail you the real one in a couple of days. But who cares--yaaaayyyyy!

Such a huuuuuge milestone in the life of a teen--I swear I can still remember how exhilarated I was to be handed that magic permission slip...to the mall...the local convenience store for a slushie run...heck, ANYWHERE outside of my neighborhood represented the Big, Wide World to me back then. Of course, I'm now on the Parent end of the spectrum, and thus have to worry about his safety as a motor vehicle operator...every single minute he's in a car. (Siiiighhhhh...)

However, he's already admitted to me that he has no interest in driving to school (even if that was an option, which right now it definitely isn't, since he currently doesn't have his own jalopy) because "the parking lot's a ZOO!" So I wonder if he's concocting any plans for where he's going to roam, on his Inaugural Journey. On that note, I jokingly informed him that I plan to take full advantage of having another driver in the family, by sending him out to take care of drudge chores--I mean "helpful excursions"--like when I forget an item at Food Lion...or I run out of something I need. "I know!" I enthused during our conversation, "You can pick up stuff we need to replenish every couple of days, like bananas...and salad ingredients...and....and...my almond milk!" He looked at me with what appeared to be equal parts bemusement...and mild panic..."Um...I don't know how to buy any of that stuff!"

Okay, then, don't worry, we'll start small, my son...grab the keys, and you can take me...to Starbucks! Whoo hoo! Away we goooooo....

Popping Up....and Singing!

When I was growing up, there was always music playing in the house--the radio on as background to our daily lives, or when one of my parents wanted to hear something specific...albums (yes, the vinyl kind)...or 8-tracks (the dinosaurs of recording, marking me as prehistoric...sigh..). Now, some of the selections I...didn't care for so much...such as Old, OLD School Country (Loretta Lynn, Waylon Jennings, Hank Williams--the original, not his son...who, truth be told, isn't a fave either--and the like). On the other hand, I somewhat shared my dad's penchant for folk music ( Kingston Trio--anyone else heard of them? I didn't think so...) and early rock 'n roll (Buddy Holly, Elvis).

But my mother...she was the one who introduced me to SHOWTUNES. (Thaaaanks, Moooom!) She exposed me to some of the classics: Chorus Line, Jesus Christ Superstar, Grease (the play, of course, long before Travolta and Newton-John offered their version). (And on a historical note, I use the term "exposed" loosely, as she banned certain tunes until I was in high school and she deemed me "mature enough" to hear them. Dance 10, Looks 3 (aka "Tits and Ass") was an obvious no-no...but it was YEARS before I actually understood--and was properly mortified by--the lewd words to Greased Lightning. Not to mention being in college before knowing what the term "Mooning" meant. What can I say? I was a sheltered one...)

From there, I discovered other gems on my own--I became a huuuuge fan of Pippin, for example. And when I got to high school? And there was a Spring Musical every year...allowing me the opportunity to be on stage...and dance...and siiiiing my little heart out? H-E-A-V-E-N! But even when I wasn't at rehearsal, I would still just belt out songs all the time--to myself, in the car, while washing dishes...whatever, whenever. As I've gotten older, this tendency has diminished to a certain degree--if I had to pinpoint a reason, I would hazard a guess that it's mainly because life is often so busy, and filled with..."noise" of all kinds--from activities, people...my own constantly-running brain--that I cherish silence more than I ever did before.

Don't get me wrong--I still sing along to certain tunes...and when I'm alone in the car, particularly on a long trip? Out come the soundtracks, baby: the trusted standbys (now on CD, at least!) and also some new...er...ish...additions, like Rent, Hairspray, Lion King (Sir Elton John on Broadway, with apologies to the Mouse), Aida. Little Shop of Horrors, Wicked. And I probably should give credit to Glee (the early seasons, when the music was faaaabulous) for reviving my passion for breaking into song at any given moment--much to my family's chagrin. ("MOM! Do you have to do that?" Why YES, yes I do, my beloved son. Suck. It Up.)

Alas, an adult...who's not in the entertainment industry...is presented with precious few chances to put one's singing voice to use, other than in the aforementioned privacy of one's own house or vehicle, wouldn't you agree? (Or maybe karaoke...which has always seemed equal parts potentially embarrassing and utterly terrifying to me. Hey, I was always part of the "company" for our productions--safety in numbers, and all that!) However...in the Sunday edition of our local paper, an article caught my eye...about a little phenomenon called the Pop-Up Chorus.

Apparently, this is a group that meets twice a month to learn two songs, practice until everyone's comfortable, and then...perform them for a music video. Whaaaat? Surely you have to try out for such a thing, yeah? Uh-uh--there's no auditioning...no talent requirement whatsoever, in fact. If you enjoy singing, no matter your skill level or...ahem...vocal acumen...you are welcomed. Oh. My. Gosh. While I sat at the kitchen table reading the details, it took all of my willpower not to jump up and down with enthusiasm, as I imagined how much of a freakin' BLAST this could be.

So yeah...I did pause to consider being nervous, for a few brief moments...then gave myself a stern warning to get over it, and purchased my ticket. No backing out now! (Incidentally, the paper mentioned that the bar will be open in the lobby of the Arts Center where the event is being held, which I suppose is an excellent idea on their part--both for revenue, and for "liquid courage"..so I can always fall back on that in a...theatrical... emergency, right?)

UPDATE: Well, I got home a little while ago, and can I just tell you THAT WAS SUPER-AMAZINGLY AWESOME, Y'ALL! First of all, there were about a hundred people there, both locals, and folks who drove in from towns all around the vicinity. Next, there was a real, live band to accompany the choral efforts. Not to mention a director who led the whole shebang. And believe me, it was kind of a major undertaking--with repeated run-throughs, and instructions on how to create layers of harmony, and people raising their hands and asking technical questions about particular notes or wording...and whatnot. In short, it was like....Singing Class! Dude! (I'm still buzzed on adrenaline....perhaps you couldn't tell...)

Tonight's numbers were Karma Chameleon by Culture Club and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton himself. When we arrived, we were handed a lyric sheet for reference, and boy, was THAT eye-opening. Boy George's lines were familiar...but as for the other tune...it's such a gorgeous piece of music that I had noooo idea what Elton was actually, you know, saying. Now I get that he was pretty damn bitter and angry at someone. Huh. So, also a learning experience, yeah? Anyway, we rehearsed, and made tweaks based on the director's expert critiques, and finally let it all hang out for the final take--dancing was strongly encouraged, here--while a videographer captured the whole scene for posterity...or, you know, YouTube....

I was thrilled to find out that it was every bit as inclusive and accepting as advertised. There was no "back there, you're off key" or "the section to the left, someone's getting pitchy". Nope. Everyone just opened their mouths, and let fly. It was all "come as you are, and be who you want" (which, come to think of it, may very well be one of the unspoken mottos of Carrboro...). At some point during one of the "yellow brick ro-oh-oad, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah" verses, the guitarist actually called us Angels of Carrboro. Okay, that might have been pushing it a teeny bit, but somehow, inexplicably, 100-odd strangers managed to join their voices together and sound...at the very least, "pleasingly melodic".

Whew! I haven't sung like that in...I can't tell you how long. The whole evening totally exceeded my expectations of...fun...ness. And I've already told my family that they can plan for me to be penciling in this engagement twice a month...come rain or shine (or soccer, or what have you...) I might be hoarse tomorrow, but it was well worth it...and this may motivate me to start working out the vocal chords in the Subaru again...I'll just consider it "training" in my "studio" for next time. Whoo hoo!

Middle School...One More Time

Sooo, I just attended my very last Parent Night at the Middle School--EVER. That's right, baby: done, fini, hasta luego and all that. And while Riley's team of teachers acknowledged and addressed this topic with sympathy and understanding--"We know some of you might be feeling emotional"--I, personally was experiencing only positive thoughts. Like, "Yay, check that one off the list!" Or, "Whoo hoo, only 34 more weeks of classes until we're promoted to High School!"

Now, before you get the impression that I'm a completely unsentimental hardcase (yeaahh, right...I think we all know better...), let me hasten to assure you that I'm already planning for how to manage myself NEXT year, when I'll be dealing with the double-whammy of Freshman Riley...and Senior Derek. (Pause....waaaaaaaaa!!! Deep breath...now take the healthy...um..."self-preservation" approach: bury and refuse to consider these issues until September 2017.) And it's not like I'm dying for Riley to hurry up and get through 8th grade--because the past 2 years have been good ones, and I want him to enjoy his last hurrah in the formative adolescent period between the pure childhood of the elementary era and high school's time of...um..."young-adulthood...ish".

Therefore, I was pretty much able to just listen to the presentations, make mental notes...and remain calm and rational. One interesting fact: I don't know if parents have...become weary of the routine?...or given up?...by 8th grade, but there seemed to be very few present. I sat with a couple of the "usual suspects"--that is, fellow soccer parents from Riley's team--which was a pleasant change from way back in the beginning, when we'd just moved to North Carolina and I literally knew no one. Because of the light turnout, I had the opportunity to introduce myself to most of Riley's instructors, who all seem delightful. (And not only due to the fact that they told me how wonderful my son is. It's early in the term, and I'm sure they're contractually obligated to say nice things...)

I learned that they'll be taking a field trip (3 miles away, but it counts) to UNC to watch a play after reading Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. (Cool! Can I come, pretty please?) I found out that much of this year will be spent emphasizing preparation for 9th grade, not only in terms of content, but also study skills and time management--as one would anticipate, but it pleased me to hear it anyway. The educators also took a bit of a cautionary tone, however, about how students and their parents can expect grading this year to more closely align with High School standards; that is, more emphasis on test and project scores, and less on homework, classwork, or participation. (Objective evaluation of knowledge and skills? We're ready--bring it! Er...hopefully Riley agrees...)

Finally, there's one aspect of Riley's 8th grade curriculum that I'm very much looking forward to--he's taking Spanish. Derek completed his third year in 9th grade, and decided not to continue after that, so I've been lacking an amigo de Espanol for a while now. So far, Riley seems very enthusiastic about it, asking me to practice pronunciation and vocabulary with him most nights. (And can I just say: Yaaayyy! Wait 'til we get to GRAMMAR, baby, then we'll be having soooo much FUN! She said in a totally nerdy-but-doesn't care kind of way...) Even better...so far he's retaining the phrases, and his accent improves every time he runs through his worksheets...dare I hope...that maybe he has a knack for it? (And yes, I offer this with the realistic attitude that it's verrrry preliminary, and it could just be that I WANT him to love the language as much as I do, so he willingly keeps going and one day can actually, you know, converse with me. That'll be awesome...eventually...if it happens...fingers crossed....)

And...that's basically what I took away from the whole shebang. Work hard, get ready for High School, deal with higher expectations...blah blah blah. Wait, there's not gonna be a QUIZ on this stuff, right? Shoot, I'd better go ask Riley to share his study guide--I want to start off with an A--ha!

Prerequisite to Econ 101...

Okay, kiddies, you might want to brace yourselves, as today we're going to talk about a weighty subject, and one which is very important to your overall well-being and peace of mind: financial management. (Before you scream "Aaahhhh--please, not that!" I promise it will be painless. You've just gotta trust me...are you calm now? Let's continue...) I think I remember being given an allowance as a kid, but I couldn't tell you how much, or how often...or anything else about it, for that matter. And I certainly don't recall being formally taught how to handle my wealth--um "paltry pocket change", either during childhood or later, as a teenager. I'm not sure if it was a "back then" thing, or just in my own household, but money just wasn't ever an open topic for discussion.

In contrast, Husband and I are fortunately on the same page about this, and sort of tacitly agreed a long time ago that we'd address economic...stuff...with our boys. I mean within reason, of course; there's no need for them to know exactly what either of our salaries are, for example. But how much we budgeted for our house, or a new car....or (gulp) how much college costs? Yes, we talk about that in front of them. Comparison shopping, saving up for a big purchase, weighing the value of something based on its quality and/or long-term desirability, or deciding whether an item falls into the category of a "want" or "need"? Oh, HECK yeah, we go there.

And we started doling out a modest monthly stipend years ago, mostly in order to have these types of conversations, about how they chose to spend their moolah. The funny thing is, given that the best prices and selection are often found on Amazon, in the early days I never actually handed them cold, hard cash. Our transactions were almost always handled virtually, with me placing the order using my credit card, and subtracting the amount from the running total I kept for each of them in my (very Old School) ledger each time. This worked smoothly for quite a while...until Derek reached High School age and began cultivating a social life that often required paying for things like food, movies, (snacks AT the theater....I quickly noticed that most everything with him involved eating in one way or another--typical...) etc.

At that point we began the frequent cycle of "Mom, I need money for xyz." Me (sighing) "I'll have to go to the ATM; when are you leaving?" Because naturally, since I DO have plastic payment options at my disposal, I rarely carry around much in the way of our good friends Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, or Jackson. (Confession: I had to Google the last two--that's how seldom I entertain them in my wallet...or, apparently, pay attention to the photos...) Then Riley started going places with HIS buddies, and it all got even more complicated, in a hurry.

So, as the WestEnders Secretary of the Treasury (yes, I grant myself new titles all the time, so what?), I decided it was high time for an overhaul of the system. That's right, the paper-and-pencil era was coming to an end, and it was about to go all high-tech up in here...with bank accounts all around! Therefore I visited the local branch of the fine institution that tends to Husband's and my banking needs, to add accounts for Derek and Riley. This meant transferring all of the heretofore phantom funds from my notebook to actual savings accounts, for starters. And then it got...interesting...in order for them to be able to access their accumulated allowance--which is the goal, after all--they would each have a checking account....and a debit card.

Okay, pause for a deep, slow breath--we've mentioned this to them as a possibility before; it should be fine. It almost goes without saying, however, that there will be a whole LOT more education in their near future about such topics as "protecting your card and PIN", "being mindful of your available balance", and especially "not going all crazy with your newfound independence and ending up broke in one regrettable weekend o'wild splurges".

And, oh boy, are they (understandably) excited. They can't wait to get their paws on those little rectangles of financial freedom and...I don't know...go purchase some Gatorade? I haven't asked if they've concocted some Grand Scheme for their maiden voyage to break in the cards (let's face it, the odds of it being an restaurant-related excursion are extremely high...) but at least this should put an end to the days of "Can I go bowling in a half-hour...and do you have any cash to give me?" My greatest hope is that this helps set their feet firmly on the right path to fiscal responsibility and maturity...or at the very least, that they don't blow their entire savings on an impulsive, extravagant trip to Dick's Sporting Goods...fingers crossed!