So, for today's round of WestEnders silliness, I offer you these snippets of actual, unadulterated (pun sort-of-intended) conversations that happened in various encounters with my precious offspring this past week:
One evening when I was relaxing in front of the TV, I heard Derek come down and begin rustling around in the kitchen. This is his usual routine, to pack his lunch before turning in for the night, so I didn't think anything of it. But I needed some tea, so I wandered in...and caught him putting something back in the pantry, with his mouth suspiciously full of...an unidentified...crunchy substance.
Now, having been a parent for quite a while...and knowing my child as I do...I had no trouble instantly putting the proverbial two and two together, so I demanded, "Are you eating COOKIES?" His red face and sheepish grin confirmed his guilt better than any verbal confession could have, but he still made a valiant attempt to dodge the question by answering, "Um...maybe?"
Then, before I had time to formulate a reply, he threw in, "Hey, I'm just practicing for college!" Well...he might be an adolescent male, with the blessed metabolism of a hyperactive fruit fly, but I still have to do my job...so I gave him my best Mom Glare and scolded, "That's a terrible idea--it's bedtime! You're not playing soccer this season; you don't need the extra calories at this time of night!"
However, I must have momentarily forgotten that I was attempting to use logic and reason on a 16-year old (I know, I know...silly me), because his response was a perfectly noncommittal shrug, a slight smirk, and the retort, "Hey, I run...once a month..." Siiiighhhhh...I give up. Thus my new motto shall be: Let them eat Oreos...
Okay, the next little gem isn't immediately related, but bear with me, it ties in later. Another night this week when Husband was out of town on a business trip, the boys were eating dinner together and talking about school. Derek shared that in A.P. Bio they're studying chromosomes...and in discussing the difference between males and females, the teacher told them to remember: "Y = Penis".
Having met the man in person at several Back-to-School nights, since this is Derek's second class with him (for obvious reasons, yeah? I swear, I'd take his course if I could--he always sounds like such a hoot...), I have a very clear picture in my head of him imparting this wisdom to a room full of students...and I was cracking up already. But wait, there's more! Derek continued, "Then he told us that if any of us called that out in our Math class, he'd bail us out of trouble with the administration...and give us extra credit!" Oh. Dear. Heaven. Can you imagine? Somehow I don't think Derek's Pre-Calc instructor--a petite blond lady who seems quite serious about her subject--would appreciate that...
Now pay attention--here comes the segue: after finishing his meal, Derek declined dessert, which would have been shocking, and cause me to, I don't know, take his temperature or something, if he hadn't announced, with a sly glance in my direction, "I'll have my cookies later...like around 10:15 or so,". And--because I treasure these heartwarming Mother/Son bonding moments so much and want to prolong them--I wagged a finger at him and warned, "But you can't do that....they'll go straight to your hips!" To which he, without even appearing to have to think about it, which kind of scared me, to be honest--shot back, "Eh...wide birthing hips are a good thing, right?"
Ay yi yi. I slapped my forehead and yelled back, "HELLO...do you need to be reminded already that Y = Penis?" But believe it or not, he was ready for that, too: "Yeah? Well...I'm a seahorse!" he triumphantly proclaimed. Aaannnnd...I gave up. Seriously? What can you do with that? Except, of course, pause to explain it to a puzzled Riley, who hadn't yet been educated about that particular ocean denizen's...gestational...surrogacy...trait. Well...now he's been brought up to speed...so we can consider it a...learning experience? Yeeeaaaahhh, we'll go with that...and maybe after all this nonsense, I need...and/or deserve...to go sneak some of those cookies...shhhhh!
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
A Tale of...Books
For as far
back as my memory goes, I’ve always been a passionate bibliophile. (Yeah, I went for the snooty word…so what?) My parents deserve the credit for starting me off
right, by providing me with materials and reading to me at a very early age. I'm sure it was because of this that, later on, libraries and bookstores became some of my Happy Places. The towering shelves
bursting with rows of tantalizing choices, the unmistakable rich smell of the millions
of pages nestled there, and the thrilling opportunity to be allowed to pick up
and examine whichever ones you want, in order to walk away with something
pleasing. I swear, it NEVER gets old for me…
So, I did
the same thing with my kids—sharing old favorites with them, discovering new
ones, taking them to story hours as soon as they were old enough to sit still for
it, and in the process introducing them to the dual wonderlands known as the Public Library…and Barnes and Noble. (Ha!) Hopefully this has instilled in them a deeply-rooted love of books…that is hearty enough to outlast the strain of their academic years. What
I mean is that, with homework and studying and the sheer amount of required
text that students must wade through, reading for pleasure becomes almost...an
oxymoron.
(I speak from personal experience, here--I went from devouring a novel-a-day
during my elementary years…to never cracking the binding of a
non-school-related book from High School
through Grad School. Soooo sad...but you'll be relieved to hear that once my academic demands were met, I was miraculously cured of the mysterious ailment I'm going to call...Reading Malaise...and it's all good now...)
Anyway, while the
Middle School curriculum still demands that Riley formally log a certain amount
of time reading a "for-fun book" (I believe it’s 20 minutes per night),
Derek has definitely fallen into that murky zone of “The last thing I want to
do with my free time is spend it sitting in a chair, deciphering words and
sentences and…stuff”. Therefore, Riley will approach me and say, “Hey, Mom, I
need a new book. Any suggestions?”
And Derek…well, at least I am reassured that he peruses
his latest copy of ESPN the Magazine cover to cover. I know this for a fact
because you can quiz him on ANY stat, or request that he thoroughly analyze or
compare randomly-selected players or teams, or ask him to break down current
trends in the sporting world…and just sit back and listen to him expound upon
one of these subjects for…well, let’s just say “don’t plan on going anywhere for
a while”. (Trust me, he can probably continue far past the point that your curiosity’s been satisfied,
and you’re quite frankly ready for him to wrap it up…)
Then, last
year, he was assigned To Kill a
Mockingbird in his English class. Now, somehow I had managed to get this
far in my life without having ever read this classic. (Side note: I wonder if
it’s because I grew up decades ago, in a very rural…what you would definitely
call “non-diverse”…community…and therefore the content was deemed
inappropriate? If so, I consider it a tragic failing of the educational system
to expose me to this work of literature. So there…) Anyway, as an adult, I had
the power to decide that it was high time to remedy this oversight—so I read it
along with him…and my goodness, was I ever glad I did. It proved to be a
pretty profound experience...while also being a welcome departure from my “usual” type of
novel.
About
that…in the moments I can steal from my
trying-to-keep-everyone-organized-and-running-smoothly…life…when I cozy up with
a book to relax I tend to gravitate toward something in the urban fantasy
genre. You know: faeries, magic, gods and mythology, angels and demons, and the
like. Once in a while I’ll go on a reality binge—I spent a couple of months
being amazed by people’s accounts of summiting Mt. Everest or hiking the
Appalachian Trail, for example—but mostly…I’m in it to ESCAPE, y’all. But when
Derek and I were chatting at the beginning of this term and he told me what
he’d be reading throughout the year, I was inspired…to join him.
Okay...first he (unfortunately) had to suffer (literally) through The
Scarlet Letter…so I gave myself permission to just SKIP that one. (Didn’t
care for it the first time; don’t feel the burning desire to repeat the
performance…and also, doing the Grown-Up Happy Dance because no one can make
me! Yaaaayyy!) We did have a lot of amusing conversations about such topics as
“how freakin’ depressed…and repressed…and judgmental…those Puritans were”. (Our
“expert” conclusion: Man, they seriously needed to Lighten. The. Heck. UP!) Finally, that was over,
and next, they’ll be moving on to the much more entertaining Mark Twain, with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He’ll be followed by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, and J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye.
Now…I read
all of these…EONS ago. In fact, I recall going through both a Twain
phase and a Fitzgerald one, where I read a bunch of non-assigned stuff…just
because I liked them. (I know: NERD. And what a huuuuuge surprise, yeah?) But
this would be a great opportunity to review the works…and discuss them with my teenager,
right? I certainly thought so…which led me to a marvelous shop on Franklin Street in
Chapel Hill, chock full of used books. We’re talking floor-to-ceiling, here,
folks—and as a super-special bonus: two friendly resident felines, available for petting
while you browse. A little bit of Paradise on Earth, I tell ya.
Wandering the aisles in rapt delight, I had no
difficulty locating Gatsby, but when it came to Twain, I had a momentary…brain
lapse, if you will. I could not for the life of me remember which rascal Derek
was meant to study: Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn. It didn’t help that I knew he’d
read one of them in 8th grade…I suppose I just didn’t file it away
properly under “Derek’s Past Reading Lists”. (Just kidding—Heaven knows I have enough junk
that I HAVE to keep track of, without trying to store nonsense like that…) So what’s the worst that could happen? Um…I
could guess wrong, and have to return to the store for the other one. Pffftt, at four bucks each—and an extra trip to the cool book-emporium-palooza--I’m hardly
going to complain.
I haven’t actually delved into the upcoming 11th-grade
novel yet, though; I’m waiting for the class to get on with it, so it will be
fresh in my mind when Derek’s going through it as well. (Nope, no comments from
the Peanut Gallery. Hey, I heard that!) In the meantime, Riley inquired the
other day about where I’d put the stack of used books I’d bought. I replied
that they were on my nightstand, and wondered why he wanted to know. “Oh, I
finished my last book, and thought I’d try Huck Finn.” (Well…bless your little
pea pickin’ heart, sweetie—you just go ahead and have at it.)
Of course,
it’s early going, but his preliminary comment was something along the lines of,
“The pages are LONG! It’s not an easy read…” After I wholeheartedly agreed with him, he
added, in a tentative voice, “And…they use a word to describe black people…you
know…the “n-word”. (He actually flinched when he said it...as did I...) Oh, yes, honey, I do know. And if you’re feeling
uncomfortable about it, and find it offensive, I’m with you 100%.
At the end
of the day, THIS is why I’m so glad to read along with my kids. (Ahem...as long as it’s,
you know, interesting—if either of them gets stuck with James Joyce (shudder)
or Tolstoy (ugh)…or basically any of those other Hawthorne-like American writers
from the 1800s—Herman Melville, I’m talking about you…I'm O-U-T). Because—especially in
light of recent events in our country, and the unsettled climate around us
right now, it feels important to talk about things like where we’ve come from (the good AND the bad)...and
where we think we should be headed, for a better future.
So, I can’t
decide if someday the boys are going to look back on this and be incredibly grateful
for their…dedicated…ly dorky?...mother—or still be shaking their heads and
trying to figure out how they descended from such a...school-obsessed goofball. I
have just two words for you, guys: Lifelong. Learner. That’s right, live it,
love it, BE it. As for me, if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got some homework…er “light
leisure reading” to do!
Friday, November 11, 2016
Um, right...that happened. Now what, America?
I almost never write about what you might call..."touchy-feely...stuff", because let's face it, it's gut-wrenching, and difficult, and it's so much easier (and frankly, more fun) to just relate funny anecdotes. But I'm feel an overwhelming need to wrestle my way through this one...both to get it off my chest...and also to put it out there for my sons to read someday. I'm not promising that it'll be a particularly polished post (ooh, sorry about the alliteration--that was unintentional), but I'll do my best to...at least semi-coherently...express what's been swirling around my head the last few days. Here goes:
Cast your mind waaaay back with me (in what we might soon refer to as "the good old days") to the beginning of the 2016 presidential campaign. Remember how it seemed like there were oh, approximately 200 contenders vying for their parties' nomination? Especially on the Republican side--I confess I couldn't even keep them straight...and I'm not really sure I EVER knew all their names, or where they were from, much less what they stood for. But the oddest thing was that one of the wannabes--improbably...ridiculously--was a mega-rich businessman, with no political experience whatsoever (who shall remain nameless...kind of like...Voldemort...). This seemed like a such a joke to us here at Team WestEnders, as we would hear news stories, and shake our heads ruefully at the sheer preposterousness of him even being in the thick of an real-life election.
And then, we watched in bemusement as the field began to narrow, presidential (formerly) hopefuls dropping out inexorably, one by one. Suddenly it wasn't quite as funny anymore when--without all the extra chatter from the other candidates in the mix--the outrageous statements coming out of the mogul's corner garnered more attention. To me, it was still hard to take him seriously, but I found myself concerned that he absolutely always appeared to be royally pissed...or actively yelling...or rudely cutting off someone else who was trying to speak. But when I actually began to listen to the content of his diatribes? That's when I became truly alarmed. The anger, the hatred, the disrespect--not to mention the falsehoods--he spewed virtually every time he opened his mouth were utterly astonishing...and disturbing...to me.
Of course, that's just on the relatively rare occasions in which he was actually able to, you know, formulate a fully-crafted, comprehensible thought. (Yeah...you do NOT wanna get the former speech-pathologist started on how strongly I believe that the leader of our nation needs to be--at a bare minimum--ARTICULATE...) It was at this point that I started struggling to understand what, exactly, people admired in this man. Really, who hadn't he insulted with his comments and his behavior already? I confess I spent an inordinate amount of time with my mouth hanging open, whenever a new piece of offensive information came to light. Women are sex objects. Muslims shouldn't be allowed in the country. And perhaps the most (in)famous: Build a wall. It was almost too much to process.
But all through this nonsense, although the lunacy seemed to escalate on almost a daily basis, I never truly worried....because I firmly believed that there was NO. Freakin'. WAY. he could possibly win. I think my words to the kids were something along the lines of, "Trust me, there is no universe in which that man is voted into the highest office in our government. Not gonna happen." In the end, I trusted, deep down, that people would choose someone with qualifications, and character, and--for the love of Pete--the slightest shred of diplomacy and basic dignity. Don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to canonize Hillary. She's human; she has flaws like any of the rest of us. But I've certainly never seen or heard--in all her years of serving in the public eye--any evidence of her treating people, or talking to people, with the vitriol, discrimination and contempt her opponent showed.
So, even though it looked, inexplicably, bad...because this wasn't supposed to happen, in my "keepin' the faith happy ending scenario"...I went to bed on Election Night before I knew the results. I woke up in the morning, flipped open the laptop, saw the inconceivable (and yes, it DOES mean what I think it means) headline ...and even though I'm someone who never, ever cries..I couldn't stop the.tears from pouring down my face. Not because the candidate that I wanted so badly to prevail, didn't...but rather, because I'm terrified of what might happen--to the whole world, honestly--with that man at the head of one of the most powerful nations on the planet.
I pulled myself together just enough to go say goodbye to Riley before he left for school. As he headed out the door, I gave him the usual hug and "Have a good day, buddy!" (Albeit somewhat more subdued...and watery....than usual, I would imagine...) With a downcast expression, he replied, "Thanks...but it's not off to a very good start, is it?" Now I wanted to start sobbing all over again, but what can you do as a parent? I squeezed him tight, told him it'd be okay, and promised him that we'd talk it over when he got home.
And, bless his school, they took a chunk of time out of the instructional day to discuss everything with the students, both giving them facts and calming any fears they might have. What's funny is, when he arrived back home, considerably more cheerful than when he'd left, it turned out that the very same points his teachers had made, my colleagues and I had come up with during our work hours, to reassure ourselves. (First and foremost being that our brilliant Founding Fathers set up a three-branch system for many reasons, the most important of which in the current climate has to be: preventing the Commander in Chief from going off all half-cocked and doing something potentially destructive...or, let's face it...just plain asinine...)
In a fortunate coincidence, Derek happens to have U.S. History in his schedule this year as his Social Studies offering (I know, right? What perfect timing!) so this whole...situation...provided them the very definition of a "golden opportunity" to converse about a whole slew of related topics, such as the democratic process, civil rights...theoretical consequences of a divisive, emotionally-charged election like this one...etc.
And while we're on the subject of teachable moments, if you will, as we hashed it out at home, what bubbled to the surface for me is what I wanted myself and my children, when all is said and done, to keep uppermost in our minds: regardless of the actions or words of the person in the Oval Office, WE are going to continue to strive at all times for respect....and tolerance...and kindness...and acceptance when interacting with our fellow human beings. We choose to see people of all races, religions, genders, sexual orientations, and walks of life as inherently valuable. We will stand beside--and stand up for--those who suffer discrimination or oppression. (Okay, I realize that came out sounding like some kind of...Team WestEnders Manifesto, or something...sorry about that...doesn't mean it wasn't sincere!)
Whew--I was honestly dreading trying to get that all out...and I must admit that I'm relieved to have done it. Now, to wrap up on a more lighthearted note: the Morning After, Husband attempted to lift the prevailing mood of doom and despair...by being a wise-ass, naturally. He asked at the breakfast table, "So...who wants to move with me to Canada?" Derek cracked up, as expected, which encouraged him to continue, "I hear...Saskatchewan...is just lovely!" (By the way, he's TOTALLY making that up--not that I'm disparaging ANY province in our delightful Neighbor-to-the-North, but I guarantee you he has NO IDEA what he's talking about. In fact, I would wager a great deal of money that he just picked the location whose name pleased him the most!)
I, on the other hand, just stared at him...in befuddlement...for a moment, before marshaling my thoughts to respond, "Are you kidding me? You might recall--as it was only two years ago--how we moved here because MARYLAND was too cold. What makes you think I would ever, in a million years, even consider relocating...closer to the Arctic Circle? (I paused a beat here, for emphasis...or something...) I swear, how long have you known me?" (Yeeeahhhh...that might have been a bit...dramatic. But, as I said, it was a tough morning...)
Besides, I'm obviously not going anywhere, but if I were to do a runner, I'd definitely be taking my disgruntled ex-pat butt and plopping it right the HECK down on some tropical beach...with mango trees (I looooove me some mangos),, and...hmm...plentiful margaritas (no further explanation necessary, I presume)! Heeeeey...maybe I've just figured out my coping strategy (or...personal mantra...or whatever...)for the next four years: Mangos and Margaritas, baby...Countdown to 2020, who's with me?!
Cast your mind waaaay back with me (in what we might soon refer to as "the good old days") to the beginning of the 2016 presidential campaign. Remember how it seemed like there were oh, approximately 200 contenders vying for their parties' nomination? Especially on the Republican side--I confess I couldn't even keep them straight...and I'm not really sure I EVER knew all their names, or where they were from, much less what they stood for. But the oddest thing was that one of the wannabes--improbably...ridiculously--was a mega-rich businessman, with no political experience whatsoever (who shall remain nameless...kind of like...Voldemort...). This seemed like a such a joke to us here at Team WestEnders, as we would hear news stories, and shake our heads ruefully at the sheer preposterousness of him even being in the thick of an real-life election.
And then, we watched in bemusement as the field began to narrow, presidential (formerly) hopefuls dropping out inexorably, one by one. Suddenly it wasn't quite as funny anymore when--without all the extra chatter from the other candidates in the mix--the outrageous statements coming out of the mogul's corner garnered more attention. To me, it was still hard to take him seriously, but I found myself concerned that he absolutely always appeared to be royally pissed...or actively yelling...or rudely cutting off someone else who was trying to speak. But when I actually began to listen to the content of his diatribes? That's when I became truly alarmed. The anger, the hatred, the disrespect--not to mention the falsehoods--he spewed virtually every time he opened his mouth were utterly astonishing...and disturbing...to me.
Of course, that's just on the relatively rare occasions in which he was actually able to, you know, formulate a fully-crafted, comprehensible thought. (Yeah...you do NOT wanna get the former speech-pathologist started on how strongly I believe that the leader of our nation needs to be--at a bare minimum--ARTICULATE...) It was at this point that I started struggling to understand what, exactly, people admired in this man. Really, who hadn't he insulted with his comments and his behavior already? I confess I spent an inordinate amount of time with my mouth hanging open, whenever a new piece of offensive information came to light. Women are sex objects. Muslims shouldn't be allowed in the country. And perhaps the most (in)famous: Build a wall. It was almost too much to process.
But all through this nonsense, although the lunacy seemed to escalate on almost a daily basis, I never truly worried....because I firmly believed that there was NO. Freakin'. WAY. he could possibly win. I think my words to the kids were something along the lines of, "Trust me, there is no universe in which that man is voted into the highest office in our government. Not gonna happen." In the end, I trusted, deep down, that people would choose someone with qualifications, and character, and--for the love of Pete--the slightest shred of diplomacy and basic dignity. Don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to canonize Hillary. She's human; she has flaws like any of the rest of us. But I've certainly never seen or heard--in all her years of serving in the public eye--any evidence of her treating people, or talking to people, with the vitriol, discrimination and contempt her opponent showed.
So, even though it looked, inexplicably, bad...because this wasn't supposed to happen, in my "keepin' the faith happy ending scenario"...I went to bed on Election Night before I knew the results. I woke up in the morning, flipped open the laptop, saw the inconceivable (and yes, it DOES mean what I think it means) headline ...and even though I'm someone who never, ever cries..I couldn't stop the.tears from pouring down my face. Not because the candidate that I wanted so badly to prevail, didn't...but rather, because I'm terrified of what might happen--to the whole world, honestly--with that man at the head of one of the most powerful nations on the planet.
I pulled myself together just enough to go say goodbye to Riley before he left for school. As he headed out the door, I gave him the usual hug and "Have a good day, buddy!" (Albeit somewhat more subdued...and watery....than usual, I would imagine...) With a downcast expression, he replied, "Thanks...but it's not off to a very good start, is it?" Now I wanted to start sobbing all over again, but what can you do as a parent? I squeezed him tight, told him it'd be okay, and promised him that we'd talk it over when he got home.
And, bless his school, they took a chunk of time out of the instructional day to discuss everything with the students, both giving them facts and calming any fears they might have. What's funny is, when he arrived back home, considerably more cheerful than when he'd left, it turned out that the very same points his teachers had made, my colleagues and I had come up with during our work hours, to reassure ourselves. (First and foremost being that our brilliant Founding Fathers set up a three-branch system for many reasons, the most important of which in the current climate has to be: preventing the Commander in Chief from going off all half-cocked and doing something potentially destructive...or, let's face it...just plain asinine...)
In a fortunate coincidence, Derek happens to have U.S. History in his schedule this year as his Social Studies offering (I know, right? What perfect timing!) so this whole...situation...provided them the very definition of a "golden opportunity" to converse about a whole slew of related topics, such as the democratic process, civil rights...theoretical consequences of a divisive, emotionally-charged election like this one...etc.
And while we're on the subject of teachable moments, if you will, as we hashed it out at home, what bubbled to the surface for me is what I wanted myself and my children, when all is said and done, to keep uppermost in our minds: regardless of the actions or words of the person in the Oval Office, WE are going to continue to strive at all times for respect....and tolerance...and kindness...and acceptance when interacting with our fellow human beings. We choose to see people of all races, religions, genders, sexual orientations, and walks of life as inherently valuable. We will stand beside--and stand up for--those who suffer discrimination or oppression. (Okay, I realize that came out sounding like some kind of...Team WestEnders Manifesto, or something...sorry about that...doesn't mean it wasn't sincere!)
Whew--I was honestly dreading trying to get that all out...and I must admit that I'm relieved to have done it. Now, to wrap up on a more lighthearted note: the Morning After, Husband attempted to lift the prevailing mood of doom and despair...by being a wise-ass, naturally. He asked at the breakfast table, "So...who wants to move with me to Canada?" Derek cracked up, as expected, which encouraged him to continue, "I hear...Saskatchewan...is just lovely!" (By the way, he's TOTALLY making that up--not that I'm disparaging ANY province in our delightful Neighbor-to-the-North, but I guarantee you he has NO IDEA what he's talking about. In fact, I would wager a great deal of money that he just picked the location whose name pleased him the most!)
I, on the other hand, just stared at him...in befuddlement...for a moment, before marshaling my thoughts to respond, "Are you kidding me? You might recall--as it was only two years ago--how we moved here because MARYLAND was too cold. What makes you think I would ever, in a million years, even consider relocating...closer to the Arctic Circle? (I paused a beat here, for emphasis...or something...) I swear, how long have you known me?" (Yeeeahhhh...that might have been a bit...dramatic. But, as I said, it was a tough morning...)
Besides, I'm obviously not going anywhere, but if I were to do a runner, I'd definitely be taking my disgruntled ex-pat butt and plopping it right the HECK down on some tropical beach...with mango trees (I looooove me some mangos),, and...hmm...plentiful margaritas (no further explanation necessary, I presume)! Heeeeey...maybe I've just figured out my coping strategy (or...personal mantra...or whatever...)for the next four years: Mangos and Margaritas, baby...Countdown to 2020, who's with me?!
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Teenage Feeding Frenzy
Back in the
Summer, when Derek was striving mightily to accumulate enough supervised behind-the-wheel
hours to obtain that elusive Driver’s License, he and his brother hatched a Plan. (And if those aren’t terrifying words to a parent, I don’t know what is…’cuz really,
what could possibly go wrong, when
two teenage boys put their heads together and start brainstorming? Ay yi yi…) Anyway, they got this idea that--when
Derek was officially granted leave to operate a motor vehicle…without an adult
sitting in the passenger seat--the two of them would embark together upon a Fast Food Tour…Extravaganza.
You might
be puzzled as to the meaning and significance of this idea. You see, Team
WestEnders doesn’t dine out at restaurants
very often (don’t get me wrong—we LIKE to, but it just doesn’t tend to happen, with activities, busy schedules,
school and work demands…and whatnot). And when we do, we’re pretty picky
about where we take our business. I’ll be the first to admit that some of this is due to my dietary restrictions, but we also just
have certain…standards…about the quality of our cuisine. In essence, we’re
more the Chipotle/Panera kind of crowd, rather than your McDonald’s/Popeye’s gang.
However,
the kids decided that they were going to go all…rogue fast food…on us, and patronize establishments that,
specifically, they’re never allowed
to experience with the family. For example…Taco
Bell--although when they were negotiating their tentative agenda, Riley
frowned and said reluctantly, “Um…we can go,
but I’m not sure I’m actually gonna eat
anything there.” (Yeah, very wise thinking, dude…your tummy will probably thank
you!)
Other
options included Cook Out (a burger
joint, which Derek swears is decent,
rather than junky), Arby’s (only because they find the commercials
so hilarious, or as Derek put it, “Well, they DO have ‘the meats’!” Sigh…), and
Chik-Fil-A. (Now, I used to feed them lunch there, when they
were munchkins and we’d go to the mall on occasion to hang out. But
obviously this was long ago…before I
became a vegetarian--so I guess they miss it, or something? Who knows…) As
much as I shake my head over some of their choices, at least when I asked them
if, say, Burger King had made the
cut, they vehemently shook their heads and declared, “No way—they’re horrible!” (I have no idea what they’re basing this on, but I’m gratified that
they’re retaining at least a shred of
their…culinary upbringing. Perhaps there’s
hope for them, yet…)
So, with Derek
having achieved his Provisional License
at last (yay!)—and with the added incentive of having recently been entrusted
with their own debit cards (gulp)--the
siblings were all set to kick off this grand
scheme. And can you guess what lucky contender won the coveted first visit? That would be…Wendy’s. As Riley put it, “Let’s start
with one of the…not-so-bad ones.” Then he added, “And, can there be vegetables
cut up for me when I get home?” (Yep…that’s my boy…)
Thus it
came about that one Sunday afternoon when Riley didn’t happen to have a soccer
game, they climbed in Husband’s car and traveled to the closest franchise
location, to eat their fill of…processed
meat patties, frozen French fries, and fountain sodas. (What? I’m not a fan--can you tell?) They
returned safe, satiated…and quite pleased
with themselves, I must say.
Flush with
their success, Riley was all for making it an every weekend thing…but Derek—believe it or not—squashed his
enthusiasm a little bit by pointing out, in a tone of mild irritation, “These meals
cost money, you know!” Ha! Get a load
of Mr. Fiscal Responsibility, would
ya? Suddenly the financial lessons we’ve
diligently tried over the years to impart, about spending vs. saving your funds, blah blah blah…seem to sink in more
thoroughly when you can monitor your checking
account balance…steadily decreasing…every
time you swipe that innocent-looking plastic rectangle.
But, not
wanting to put the kibosh on their cute brother bonding, I pointed out that
they have several helpful items at their disposal to save them some cash:
certificates from Chik-Fil-A and Jersey Mike’s, each for one free item off the menu (the former
was included in the swag bag from a recent
5k race we ran; the latter was given
to Derek by a friend who…just said he wouldn’t
use it…for whatever reason. Or…maybe he’s just witnessed how much Derek enjoys eating? Yeah, that sounds about right…). Also, Riley’s godmother, when I regaled her with the
story of what they intended to do, asked what his absolute favorite fast food-type eatery was…and presented him with a giftcard for his last birthday. (Oh, it’s
Noodles & Co., in case you were
wondering.)
Therefore,
at least their next several outings will be partially-to-fully-subsidized….and
completely clear of parental interference,
because with the exception of the noodle joint (and Chik-Fil-A, for Husband), I
don’t think either of the WestEnders grown-ups would be caught dead setting foot in any of their shortlisted
restaurants. Nope, it’s just: hand over the keys,
give them the obligatory “be careful
and behave yourselves” speech (that
was the entire thing, by the way—it’s
pretty much understood by this point)…and
perhaps check to see if we have any Pepto
Bismol in the medicine cabinet for when they return…just in case… (Unless, of course, they change their minds and let
slip that they’re headed to Chipotle,
in which case…I call “shotgun”!)
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
(Not so Chilling) Tales of Halloween
I suppose we can declare that the official Holiday Season has begun, as we just kicked it off with Halloween. But...before we dive into that topic, I just have to say (since I can't help myself): I noticed that a local shopping center adorned their lamp posts with Christmas tree banners...on October 29th. Driving by, spluttering with indignation, I found myself struggling to adequately express how very much this IRKS me...except: seriously, people, would it kill you to wait until November 1st? I believe I speak for most of my fellow humans when I tell you that no one wants to jump ahead while their minds are still occupied by candy, and costumes, and such. And by the way, whatever happened to Thanksgiving? Remember that one? Family, and togetherness, and feasting, and whatnot? Please....One. Holiday. At. A. Time. Thankyouverymuch. (Oh, and while I'm on a cantankerous roll: Hey, you kids...get off my lawn! Nope, just kidding about that last one...thus ends the rant...carry on...)
Anyway, back to the spooky and sweet--I soooo enjoy seeing the photos on social media...artistic pumpkins, clever, cute getups, amazing food creations...it's all super-fun stuff that makes me happy. And I'd like to participate, I really would...but I have teenage sons, now, so our Halloween is somewhat...different. Yes, Husband does still corral the boys to carve the decorative gourds, ostensibly to brighten up the porch and beckon invitingly to trick or treaters--but I suspect his true motivation lies in the fact that he, himself, looooves roasted pumpkin seeds!
Otherwise, while Riley made tentative plans to stroll through the neighborhood with friends for a while and knock on a few doors, Derek's agenda as he shared it was decidedly more...vague. "Oh, we're gonna get together at someone's house...maybe walk around and look at people's decorations." Hmmm...okaaaayyy, dear. I suffered a brief internal parental dilemma when he told me this. I didn't want him to think I was suspicious of him and his buddies, because they're (thank goodness) not the kind of kids you'd expect to run amok, toilet papering lawns or egging houses or terrorizing small children. So yeah, it sort of goes without saying, but...I'm ME, so I nonetheless still felt it necessary to reply, "No...mischief...right?" Fortunately, Derek isn't easily offended, either, so he just shook his head firmly and answered, "Nah, just hanging out." (My obligatory motherly nagging concluded, I relaxed and wished him a good time...)
When the hour arrived for little (or not so small, as it were) ghosts and goblins to commence ringing the doorbell and begging for sugar, Riley hadn't heard back from his posse as to what they had decided to do. With a downcast expression, he resignedly announced that he would go out by himself for a little bit, since he "didn't want to miss out on the whole thing." Awwww! He was breaking my heart, I tell ya. I offered to drive him around and try to find his pals, but he brushed me off and headed out on his own...a solo Middle Schooler...on a valiant quest for chocolate. (Hey, I can totally respect that!) At least he made a token effort with his outfit: an Orioles shirt and hat, with a baseball glove for that added touch of authenticity. And his evening took a turn for the better when he ran into some classmates and joined up with them, salvaging his mood and saving his trick or treating experience.
And then...there was Derek's merry band of...urchins. (Or, as I like to call them, the Five Stooges...) The gang congregated at one of their houses, where the parents had ordered pizza for them (nice!) in exchange for the guys being in charge of handing out goodies while the grownups took a younger sibling out for the festivities. Sounds reasonable...and simple...right? Suuure...except that they left a bunch of 16-year old...goofballs...manning the fort, as it were. As Derek relayed it to me--with great relish--one of them would answer the door, and offer the hopeful treat-seeker...a tray of vegetables (which his mother had left, to supplement their dinner with something healthy. Yes, it does sound like something I would do...have done....whatever...).
He went on to describe how the kids would stand there, looking confused--at which point the second prankster would jump in and inform them that they could indeed get themselves some sweets...if they answered a trivia question. You see, he happened to be studying for a History exam at the time, and reportedly chose sample test items from his Study Guide. (I know, right: diabolical..ly hilarious!) Finally, when the youngsters were about to give up and leave empty-handed, a third member of the quintet would come to the rescue, skidding around the corner from where he'd been lurking out of sight, and holding out the actual candy bowl.
Oh. My. Goodness. At least they're putting their...ahem..."talents"...to good use? I only wish someone had filmed this whole shebang, because I'm certain it was entertaining. Especially the instance involving a bevy of little girls who, upon having the carrots held out to them, seemed so disappointed that Derek said, "It was like, their faces just fell...they looked sooooo sad!" I can just picture this--the teenage boys probably feared they were about to be faced with something downright horrific, like...TEARS...and they panicked, skipping the pop quiz and calling the Candy Fairy to the rescue, straightaway. (Whew...as far as juvenile hijinks go, I'll take this variety...)
In the end, everyone came away with a few treats, a couple of laughs, and maybe a trick or two. Successful Halloween; check. NOW we can move forward...to Turkey Day. (Or, you know, "Gluten-Free Vegan....Side Dish Day...ha!)
Anyway, back to the spooky and sweet--I soooo enjoy seeing the photos on social media...artistic pumpkins, clever, cute getups, amazing food creations...it's all super-fun stuff that makes me happy. And I'd like to participate, I really would...but I have teenage sons, now, so our Halloween is somewhat...different. Yes, Husband does still corral the boys to carve the decorative gourds, ostensibly to brighten up the porch and beckon invitingly to trick or treaters--but I suspect his true motivation lies in the fact that he, himself, looooves roasted pumpkin seeds!
Otherwise, while Riley made tentative plans to stroll through the neighborhood with friends for a while and knock on a few doors, Derek's agenda as he shared it was decidedly more...vague. "Oh, we're gonna get together at someone's house...maybe walk around and look at people's decorations." Hmmm...okaaaayyy, dear. I suffered a brief internal parental dilemma when he told me this. I didn't want him to think I was suspicious of him and his buddies, because they're (thank goodness) not the kind of kids you'd expect to run amok, toilet papering lawns or egging houses or terrorizing small children. So yeah, it sort of goes without saying, but...I'm ME, so I nonetheless still felt it necessary to reply, "No...mischief...right?" Fortunately, Derek isn't easily offended, either, so he just shook his head firmly and answered, "Nah, just hanging out." (My obligatory motherly nagging concluded, I relaxed and wished him a good time...)
When the hour arrived for little (or not so small, as it were) ghosts and goblins to commence ringing the doorbell and begging for sugar, Riley hadn't heard back from his posse as to what they had decided to do. With a downcast expression, he resignedly announced that he would go out by himself for a little bit, since he "didn't want to miss out on the whole thing." Awwww! He was breaking my heart, I tell ya. I offered to drive him around and try to find his pals, but he brushed me off and headed out on his own...a solo Middle Schooler...on a valiant quest for chocolate. (Hey, I can totally respect that!) At least he made a token effort with his outfit: an Orioles shirt and hat, with a baseball glove for that added touch of authenticity. And his evening took a turn for the better when he ran into some classmates and joined up with them, salvaging his mood and saving his trick or treating experience.
And then...there was Derek's merry band of...urchins. (Or, as I like to call them, the Five Stooges...) The gang congregated at one of their houses, where the parents had ordered pizza for them (nice!) in exchange for the guys being in charge of handing out goodies while the grownups took a younger sibling out for the festivities. Sounds reasonable...and simple...right? Suuure...except that they left a bunch of 16-year old...goofballs...manning the fort, as it were. As Derek relayed it to me--with great relish--one of them would answer the door, and offer the hopeful treat-seeker...a tray of vegetables (which his mother had left, to supplement their dinner with something healthy. Yes, it does sound like something I would do...have done....whatever...).
He went on to describe how the kids would stand there, looking confused--at which point the second prankster would jump in and inform them that they could indeed get themselves some sweets...if they answered a trivia question. You see, he happened to be studying for a History exam at the time, and reportedly chose sample test items from his Study Guide. (I know, right: diabolical..ly hilarious!) Finally, when the youngsters were about to give up and leave empty-handed, a third member of the quintet would come to the rescue, skidding around the corner from where he'd been lurking out of sight, and holding out the actual candy bowl.
Oh. My. Goodness. At least they're putting their...ahem..."talents"...to good use? I only wish someone had filmed this whole shebang, because I'm certain it was entertaining. Especially the instance involving a bevy of little girls who, upon having the carrots held out to them, seemed so disappointed that Derek said, "It was like, their faces just fell...they looked sooooo sad!" I can just picture this--the teenage boys probably feared they were about to be faced with something downright horrific, like...TEARS...and they panicked, skipping the pop quiz and calling the Candy Fairy to the rescue, straightaway. (Whew...as far as juvenile hijinks go, I'll take this variety...)In the end, everyone came away with a few treats, a couple of laughs, and maybe a trick or two. Successful Halloween; check. NOW we can move forward...to Turkey Day. (Or, you know, "Gluten-Free Vegan....Side Dish Day...ha!)
Saturday, October 29, 2016
More Fall Wanderings....
Aaahhh, Fridays...I realize that I just took a field trip last week, so I wasn't exactly feeling an irrepressible yearning to go exploring again, yet...but the weather we've been graced with in the waning days of October has been soooo stunning that I couldn't pass up the chance to get out and take advantage of it...rather than spending my free time in a less entertaining, indoor way (such as...Costco--ugh).
Therefore I set my sights on Bentonville, a Civil War battlefield I've been thinking of visiting for a while (I know, you're shocked by this, right? Or...not...), about 75 miles to the southeast of Chapel Hill. Armed with snacks, songs, and shades, I hit the highway (that would be Route 40) for an easy journey--or so I believed. And actually, it WAS smooth and simple....riiiight up until I got off the interstate and approached the actual park. Suddenly the GPS instructed me to turn...directly into an orange barrier that firmly proclaimed: Road Closed.
Huh. Since I happened to be in the Middle of Nowhere, I was able to sit there at the stop sign for a minute and contemplate what to do. Peering beyond the sign, I could see that the passage looked clear--no noticeable, immediately apparent reason for the blockage. And, annoyingly, there was also a distinct lack of a handy Detour arrow or information to help out a sister who was just trying to go soak up some history...and stuff...dang it! Now, the rebellious portion of my brain piped up encouragingly, "It seems fine! Go ahead and try it...what's the worst that could happen?" Especially when, while I was involved with my internal discussion, several vehicles came toward me from the other side of the pavement, in no evident distress whatsoever.
But the Voice of Reason won out and I reversed my course, trusting the navigation app to find an alternate way in and re-route me. Which she did...about 6 more times, as Every. Single. Street. we tried was also barricaded. What the WHAT is happening here? Ohhhhhh....it finally dawned on me that I had neglected to consider the recent passage of Hurricane Matthew...because, while the storm dumped a couple inches of rain on us in the Triangle region, which was no big deal and quickly forgotten...it reportedly devastated areas south and east...which described EXACTLY where I currently was. Oops...
So, after driving around in circles--literally--for about a half-hour, and coming back to the precise spot where I'd begun this charming little misadventure, I was faced with a choice: give up and go home...or give in to the verrry tiny defiant whisper in my head that had begun to pick up some steam, egging me on: "Just do it! No one's looking! You can always turn around if, you know, the road is flooded...or washed out...or whatever..." And then, the moment that sealed the deal for me came when a pickup truck nonchalantly swerved around the sign, right in front of me. Well, that settles it--if HE'S going, then so am I! (Ha!)
And would you believe...the freakin' Visitor's Center lay just out of sight, maybe 100 yards BEYOND THE INTERSECTION. Seriously, you were practically on top of it, but unfortunately it wasn't visible, to let you know you'd almost arrived. Sheesh. It turned out that what they actually meant was that the road was closed just PAST the park. Well, thanks a lot, Highway Department--that's super-helpful.
When I mentioned it to the first friendly staff member I encountered, he nodded sympathetically...because obviously he's heard this from absolutely everyone who manages to stumble onto the place, despite the...challenges. However...he also mentioned that all of their walking trails...are still off-limits, due to the damage that hasn't been fully cleaned up yet. BUMMER. (And, as an aside, it would have been nice to find ANY of this information on your website. I recognize that you're a historical location, but you're operating in the Digital Information Age, y'all. I'm just sayin'...)
Anyway, at least I had made it at last--and my recent lucky streak held, as the same employee was about to kick off a guided interpretation of the buildings preserved on-site. With his supervision, we were allowed inside the Harper house, which was commandeered as a makeshift hospital during the Battle of Bentonville in March of 1865, toward the end of the War Between the States. This skirmish was "the only significant attempt" to defeat General Sherman's large Union forces as they made their way through the Carolinas.
During the action, army physicians took over the downstairs rooms to perform surgeries..usually amputations, as the ammunition used at this time did so much damage that it left them few options for treatment. The Harper family-- husband, wife, and 9 (!) children--who were subsistence farmers, retreated to the upstairs rooms for the duration...and even afterwards, when some of the wounded men who couldn't yet be moved were left in their care.
Our narrator also opened the separate kitchen structure for us to have a peek, as well as the slave quarters (the Harpers owned 3, who all would have been freed when Sherman marched through). Besides that, there was really only the family's small cemetery plot and a few stone monuments that were open to the public. Oh--there was a driving portion that you could do on your own, pausing at each marker and reading the material...but since I'd basically spent most of the day in the car already, I opted to skip that. Perhaps I'll give it a while, and return when I can stroll the grounds a bit more...or maybe I'll just decree that I got enough satisfaction out of Bentonville, and move on to the next historical point on my list.
My excursion might not have gone entirely as planned, but I got to fully appreciate a warm, sunny, delightful Fall afternoon, I learned a few interesting things...and I was 100% successful in avoiding all things related to grocery shopping...I call that a big old W-I-N!
Therefore I set my sights on Bentonville, a Civil War battlefield I've been thinking of visiting for a while (I know, you're shocked by this, right? Or...not...), about 75 miles to the southeast of Chapel Hill. Armed with snacks, songs, and shades, I hit the highway (that would be Route 40) for an easy journey--or so I believed. And actually, it WAS smooth and simple....riiiight up until I got off the interstate and approached the actual park. Suddenly the GPS instructed me to turn...directly into an orange barrier that firmly proclaimed: Road Closed.
Huh. Since I happened to be in the Middle of Nowhere, I was able to sit there at the stop sign for a minute and contemplate what to do. Peering beyond the sign, I could see that the passage looked clear--no noticeable, immediately apparent reason for the blockage. And, annoyingly, there was also a distinct lack of a handy Detour arrow or information to help out a sister who was just trying to go soak up some history...and stuff...dang it! Now, the rebellious portion of my brain piped up encouragingly, "It seems fine! Go ahead and try it...what's the worst that could happen?" Especially when, while I was involved with my internal discussion, several vehicles came toward me from the other side of the pavement, in no evident distress whatsoever.
But the Voice of Reason won out and I reversed my course, trusting the navigation app to find an alternate way in and re-route me. Which she did...about 6 more times, as Every. Single. Street. we tried was also barricaded. What the WHAT is happening here? Ohhhhhh....it finally dawned on me that I had neglected to consider the recent passage of Hurricane Matthew...because, while the storm dumped a couple inches of rain on us in the Triangle region, which was no big deal and quickly forgotten...it reportedly devastated areas south and east...which described EXACTLY where I currently was. Oops...
So, after driving around in circles--literally--for about a half-hour, and coming back to the precise spot where I'd begun this charming little misadventure, I was faced with a choice: give up and go home...or give in to the verrry tiny defiant whisper in my head that had begun to pick up some steam, egging me on: "Just do it! No one's looking! You can always turn around if, you know, the road is flooded...or washed out...or whatever..." And then, the moment that sealed the deal for me came when a pickup truck nonchalantly swerved around the sign, right in front of me. Well, that settles it--if HE'S going, then so am I! (Ha!)
When I mentioned it to the first friendly staff member I encountered, he nodded sympathetically...because obviously he's heard this from absolutely everyone who manages to stumble onto the place, despite the...challenges. However...he also mentioned that all of their walking trails...are still off-limits, due to the damage that hasn't been fully cleaned up yet. BUMMER. (And, as an aside, it would have been nice to find ANY of this information on your website. I recognize that you're a historical location, but you're operating in the Digital Information Age, y'all. I'm just sayin'...)
During the action, army physicians took over the downstairs rooms to perform surgeries..usually amputations, as the ammunition used at this time did so much damage that it left them few options for treatment. The Harper family-- husband, wife, and 9 (!) children--who were subsistence farmers, retreated to the upstairs rooms for the duration...and even afterwards, when some of the wounded men who couldn't yet be moved were left in their care.
Our narrator also opened the separate kitchen structure for us to have a peek, as well as the slave quarters (the Harpers owned 3, who all would have been freed when Sherman marched through). Besides that, there was really only the family's small cemetery plot and a few stone monuments that were open to the public. Oh--there was a driving portion that you could do on your own, pausing at each marker and reading the material...but since I'd basically spent most of the day in the car already, I opted to skip that. Perhaps I'll give it a while, and return when I can stroll the grounds a bit more...or maybe I'll just decree that I got enough satisfaction out of Bentonville, and move on to the next historical point on my list.
My excursion might not have gone entirely as planned, but I got to fully appreciate a warm, sunny, delightful Fall afternoon, I learned a few interesting things...and I was 100% successful in avoiding all things related to grocery shopping...I call that a big old W-I-N!
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Tales from the Kitchen (whaaat? yeah, you heard that right...)
Perhaps it was the newly-arrived Autumn weather that inspired such unusual behavior from me last weekend. Or maybe there was something...infectious...floating around in the air...like a virus...or an overabundance of Fall pollen. Then there's the (much more realistic and likely) possibility that I was finally just Fed. The Heck. Up. with my restrictive...boring...no-fun-whatsoever Elimination Food Plan that's now been going on for, oh, more than 4 months. Whatever the reason, I got a strange (for me) hankering to (wait for it...) COOK. (Feel free to go ahead and gasp--I completely understand...) And I'm not talking about just throwing together a dinner...I mean the real deal...using recipes I pulled from recent magazines....buying special ingredients that I didn't already have on hand...and, you know, "concocting...food products".
I KNOW, right? Totally bizarre and kind of disturbing, maybe even something to keep an eye on, in case it becomes habitual. (Ha! Yeah...not to worry...) Anyway, it began with an innocent apple crisp, which I decided to make for the office, to mark my one-year anniversary of working there. I mean, c'mon...apples, gluten-free oats, honey, brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon--doesn't that sound amazing? Well, I'm here to tell you that is absolutely WAS...so delicious, in fact, that I whipped up a second batch for the family (partially due to guilt over the fact that they'd had to bask in the enticing aroma while it baked...and then watch me take it away without sharing any! Oh, and also...I wanted to eat it again. Hey, is that so wrong? Fruit, whole grains--it's practically healthy anyway, for crying out loud!)
That little experiment turned out so well that I continued my wild and crazy...culinary creation...by tackling a recipe for roasted butternut squash soup. Now, this was one item that I knew would belong entirely to ME, because--while I'm just a wee bit obsessed with it--the male portion of Team WestEnders doesn't particularly care for...edible entrees made from gourds. I won't belabor the details, but suffice it to say that it was mouth-wateringly yummy...and made enough for me to enjoy it for 3 meals. (And that's what I consider a fabulous return for my grudging efforts in the kitchen, y'all...)
Finally, given my previous successes, I confidently prepared one more dish: an alternative to tomato-based pasta sauce, utilizing sweet potatoes and carrots instead. Since the red fruit...vegetable...whatever...is one of the things off-limits to me, it sounded like this option was worth trying. And it was...well...let's call it "a lesson learned". I ended up with a very weird, thick, sweet...paste?...that didn't taste quite right with noodles, and whose texture was somewhat off-putting, to be honest. Oh well, I gave it a shot, yeah? And after the first go-round, I just resorted to adding some ground hemp and walnuts for protein, and eating it like mashed potatoes. Eh, you win some, you lose some--I'll take 2 out of 3, any day!
Meanwhile, on an only-slightly-related note, since we're speaking of eating (as we do often do), Riley has been kind of...how shall I put this?..."even more food-oriented than usual" these days. For example, he confided one night, "I'm having one of those days, where I'm not necessarily super-hungry, but I could eat...like, every couple of hours. Like, if there was food in front of me, or if you offered me some, I'd definitely take it." I was processing this alarming bit of news when he added the part that was even more terrifying: "This happens about 5 days a week, lately..." Oh. Dear. I do realize that the boy's not finished growing yet, and I fear that we may very well wake up soon to find him several inches taller. Also, this may help explain why I've been feeling like I run to the grocery store every couple of days...sooo...at least now I understand? Somehow, that's not as comforting as I might hope...
However, at least I know that he's still following the...dietary education with which he's been indoctrinated by both school Health class and his fitness-conscious parents...since he also shared how, even though he wants to scarf down everything in sight, he's consciously trying to make good choices...an example of which he described thusly, "After school, I'll have pretzels...and a cereal bar....and a pear...and yogurt...and then I'm good!" (Wait...that was supposed to reassure me? Jeez Louise! All I can think of is that I'd better add all of those to my next shopping list...)
Then, in case I had any lingering worries about his....self-monitoring skills (which I didn't, but he was being so marvelously forthcoming that I encouraged him to forge ahead anyway) he added, "You know those pumpkin candies you bought for Halloween? I read the label (pause for a moment while your mother sniffles and wipes away a proud tear...okay, carry on...) and saw the serving size, and how many grams of sugar they have...so I probably won't eat them every day." (Yes sirree, that's my child: peruses the nutrition information and weighs the consequences before deciding whether to put something in his body--that is...at least in the days leading up to a major...sweets-consumption... holiday, like any rational human being! Eh, I'll take it...)
So...that's the latest random roundup of our food-related adventures. With trick or treating looming on the horizon, maybe I'd better look up a couple more wholesome recipes to counteract the upcoming influx of junk. And, of course, I need to re-stock the pantry...fridge...and freezer...before the younger teenager's next snacking frenzy! Food Lion, here I come...AGAIN...siiiiighhhhh...
I KNOW, right? Totally bizarre and kind of disturbing, maybe even something to keep an eye on, in case it becomes habitual. (Ha! Yeah...not to worry...) Anyway, it began with an innocent apple crisp, which I decided to make for the office, to mark my one-year anniversary of working there. I mean, c'mon...apples, gluten-free oats, honey, brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon--doesn't that sound amazing? Well, I'm here to tell you that is absolutely WAS...so delicious, in fact, that I whipped up a second batch for the family (partially due to guilt over the fact that they'd had to bask in the enticing aroma while it baked...and then watch me take it away without sharing any! Oh, and also...I wanted to eat it again. Hey, is that so wrong? Fruit, whole grains--it's practically healthy anyway, for crying out loud!)
That little experiment turned out so well that I continued my wild and crazy...culinary creation...by tackling a recipe for roasted butternut squash soup. Now, this was one item that I knew would belong entirely to ME, because--while I'm just a wee bit obsessed with it--the male portion of Team WestEnders doesn't particularly care for...edible entrees made from gourds. I won't belabor the details, but suffice it to say that it was mouth-wateringly yummy...and made enough for me to enjoy it for 3 meals. (And that's what I consider a fabulous return for my grudging efforts in the kitchen, y'all...)
Finally, given my previous successes, I confidently prepared one more dish: an alternative to tomato-based pasta sauce, utilizing sweet potatoes and carrots instead. Since the red fruit...vegetable...whatever...is one of the things off-limits to me, it sounded like this option was worth trying. And it was...well...let's call it "a lesson learned". I ended up with a very weird, thick, sweet...paste?...that didn't taste quite right with noodles, and whose texture was somewhat off-putting, to be honest. Oh well, I gave it a shot, yeah? And after the first go-round, I just resorted to adding some ground hemp and walnuts for protein, and eating it like mashed potatoes. Eh, you win some, you lose some--I'll take 2 out of 3, any day!
Meanwhile, on an only-slightly-related note, since we're speaking of eating (as we do often do), Riley has been kind of...how shall I put this?..."even more food-oriented than usual" these days. For example, he confided one night, "I'm having one of those days, where I'm not necessarily super-hungry, but I could eat...like, every couple of hours. Like, if there was food in front of me, or if you offered me some, I'd definitely take it." I was processing this alarming bit of news when he added the part that was even more terrifying: "This happens about 5 days a week, lately..." Oh. Dear. I do realize that the boy's not finished growing yet, and I fear that we may very well wake up soon to find him several inches taller. Also, this may help explain why I've been feeling like I run to the grocery store every couple of days...sooo...at least now I understand? Somehow, that's not as comforting as I might hope...
However, at least I know that he's still following the...dietary education with which he's been indoctrinated by both school Health class and his fitness-conscious parents...since he also shared how, even though he wants to scarf down everything in sight, he's consciously trying to make good choices...an example of which he described thusly, "After school, I'll have pretzels...and a cereal bar....and a pear...and yogurt...and then I'm good!" (Wait...that was supposed to reassure me? Jeez Louise! All I can think of is that I'd better add all of those to my next shopping list...)
Then, in case I had any lingering worries about his....self-monitoring skills (which I didn't, but he was being so marvelously forthcoming that I encouraged him to forge ahead anyway) he added, "You know those pumpkin candies you bought for Halloween? I read the label (pause for a moment while your mother sniffles and wipes away a proud tear...okay, carry on...) and saw the serving size, and how many grams of sugar they have...so I probably won't eat them every day." (Yes sirree, that's my child: peruses the nutrition information and weighs the consequences before deciding whether to put something in his body--that is...at least in the days leading up to a major...sweets-consumption... holiday, like any rational human being! Eh, I'll take it...)
So...that's the latest random roundup of our food-related adventures. With trick or treating looming on the horizon, maybe I'd better look up a couple more wholesome recipes to counteract the upcoming influx of junk. And, of course, I need to re-stock the pantry...fridge...and freezer...before the younger teenager's next snacking frenzy! Food Lion, here I come...AGAIN...siiiiighhhhh...
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Catching up with the calendar
Well, folks, the weather recently took a sudden turn--fortunately toward the dee-lightful--and swept Fall right in along with it. I swear, it seems like we went from 1,000 degrees and 250% humidity (this is meant to be an educated estimate, of course...I'm only an amateur meteorologist, ya know...mostly I base my forecast on "how disgusting the outside air feels" coupled with "the amount that my clothing is sticking uncomfortably to my body") to donning multiple layers and turning the heat on in the house to keep warm. Needless to say, it's a very welcome change after our somewhat sweltering Summer, and we here on Team WestEnders enjoy this time of year to the hilt
Speaking of which, with the newly arrived Autumn-like conditions, it finally felt as though it was an auspicious time to procure pumpkins to adorn our porch. Now, in bygone days, this constituted a carefully planned outing to a local farm. There we would tromp around the fields and consider the vast array of available gourds, by examining them thoroughly for such important qualities as: potential carveability, pleasing shape, adequate size, and sufficient weight to indicate an abundance of seeds inside, for later roasting. Inevitably on such a sojourn there were also hayrides, corn mazes, apple cider, and other amusements to keep the kiddies happy. Ahhhh...good times.
But nowadays...my sons are teenagers...and here's how it goes:
Me: (enthusiastically) "We don't have any pumpkins yet!"
Riley: (gravely) "Where are we gonna get them?"
Me: "Um...I...don't know..."
Derek: (unexpectedly taking on the role of Mr. Practical) "We could always just pick them up at Harris Teeter, right?"
Me: (sighing) "Sure...but what fun is THAT?!"
In the end, we compromised by patronizing Southern States (right next door to H.T., but with their emphasis on gardening and landscaping supplies...somehow feeling more...authentic....or something...), where they presented an impressively attractive and varied display of pumpkins outside the store for you to wander through and peruse. I was prepared to compare the merits of many specimens with the boys, and discuss the subject at length--as long as was necessary, in fact, to find just the right ones for our Halloween needs. Aaaannnd...they each had selected theirs in oh, approximately 5 minutes. (Honestly, while I believe Derek might have grabbed the first acceptable one he encountered, Riley actually apologized for taking a little extra time, saying, "You know I'm a little OCD, so I want to make sure I make a good decision." Not a problem, dude--you are once again proving to be your mother's child...)
The other harbinger of the season...at least for the Male Posse around here...is their annual obsession with all things college-football related. I'm not kidding you, Derek actually tries very diligently to arrange his weekend schedule based on what key Top 25 match-ups are happening, and in what televised time-slot. (Yes, it IS a little disturbing, to this staunchly anti-football person, I'm not gonna lie...but what can ya do? Oh yeah: studiously IGNORE it, and wait for it to eventually go away. Also, for a brief, glorious stretch, I intend to focus on the World Series, which may not involve my Orioles (boo), but also doesn't include the Yankees (YAAAAAYY!), and even better, pits two teams that haven't won the Big Finale in a combined...one hundred seventy six years (BONUS!!).
Anyway, to take their love of the game even further--and outside in the fresh air--they often grab a ball and run pass routes in the front yard. But lately for some reason they've gotten into kicking the ball as well...which in order to be performed in the most realistic manner, necessitates...a goalpost of some kind to be used as a target. Therefore, they were motivated to attempt to construct one, using scraps they scrounged up from the garage (a broken street hockey stick, some random plastic pipe)...and copious amounts of duct tape (naturally. Because is there any project conceptualized by a guy that doesn't require this all-purpose item? Yeah, I didn't think so...)
So, how's it going, you ask? Well...let's just say that the prototype...wasn't...um...terribly durable. However, we made an excursion to Lowe's today to pick up some additional pipe in a lighter, smaller diameter size, and they have high hopes that this will fix the balance and adhesion issues they've been dealing with thus far. (And by the way, despite my aversion to football itself, I fully support this endeavor--it seems to foster cooperation, stimulate creativity and problem solving, inspire engineering skills...and, when things go awry, offer opportunities for practicing positive anger management techniques--ha!)
And that, my friends, is how we're getting ourselves into the proper seasonal mindset to appreciate the bounty of Fall. Hey, we have the materials to make jack o'lanterns happen...the trick or treating supplies are already safely stashed away in the pantry for the 31st...I think we're well-prepared...have I earned a pumpkin spice latte? (Aren't you proud of me? I made it to the Very. Last. Sentence before working that in--extra whipped cream for me...whoo hoo!)
Speaking of which, with the newly arrived Autumn-like conditions, it finally felt as though it was an auspicious time to procure pumpkins to adorn our porch. Now, in bygone days, this constituted a carefully planned outing to a local farm. There we would tromp around the fields and consider the vast array of available gourds, by examining them thoroughly for such important qualities as: potential carveability, pleasing shape, adequate size, and sufficient weight to indicate an abundance of seeds inside, for later roasting. Inevitably on such a sojourn there were also hayrides, corn mazes, apple cider, and other amusements to keep the kiddies happy. Ahhhh...good times.
But nowadays...my sons are teenagers...and here's how it goes:
Me: (enthusiastically) "We don't have any pumpkins yet!"
Riley: (gravely) "Where are we gonna get them?"
Me: "Um...I...don't know..."
Derek: (unexpectedly taking on the role of Mr. Practical) "We could always just pick them up at Harris Teeter, right?"
Me: (sighing) "Sure...but what fun is THAT?!"
In the end, we compromised by patronizing Southern States (right next door to H.T., but with their emphasis on gardening and landscaping supplies...somehow feeling more...authentic....or something...), where they presented an impressively attractive and varied display of pumpkins outside the store for you to wander through and peruse. I was prepared to compare the merits of many specimens with the boys, and discuss the subject at length--as long as was necessary, in fact, to find just the right ones for our Halloween needs. Aaaannnd...they each had selected theirs in oh, approximately 5 minutes. (Honestly, while I believe Derek might have grabbed the first acceptable one he encountered, Riley actually apologized for taking a little extra time, saying, "You know I'm a little OCD, so I want to make sure I make a good decision." Not a problem, dude--you are once again proving to be your mother's child...)
The other harbinger of the season...at least for the Male Posse around here...is their annual obsession with all things college-football related. I'm not kidding you, Derek actually tries very diligently to arrange his weekend schedule based on what key Top 25 match-ups are happening, and in what televised time-slot. (Yes, it IS a little disturbing, to this staunchly anti-football person, I'm not gonna lie...but what can ya do? Oh yeah: studiously IGNORE it, and wait for it to eventually go away. Also, for a brief, glorious stretch, I intend to focus on the World Series, which may not involve my Orioles (boo), but also doesn't include the Yankees (YAAAAAYY!), and even better, pits two teams that haven't won the Big Finale in a combined...one hundred seventy six years (BONUS!!).
Anyway, to take their love of the game even further--and outside in the fresh air--they often grab a ball and run pass routes in the front yard. But lately for some reason they've gotten into kicking the ball as well...which in order to be performed in the most realistic manner, necessitates...a goalpost of some kind to be used as a target. Therefore, they were motivated to attempt to construct one, using scraps they scrounged up from the garage (a broken street hockey stick, some random plastic pipe)...and copious amounts of duct tape (naturally. Because is there any project conceptualized by a guy that doesn't require this all-purpose item? Yeah, I didn't think so...)
So, how's it going, you ask? Well...let's just say that the prototype...wasn't...um...terribly durable. However, we made an excursion to Lowe's today to pick up some additional pipe in a lighter, smaller diameter size, and they have high hopes that this will fix the balance and adhesion issues they've been dealing with thus far. (And by the way, despite my aversion to football itself, I fully support this endeavor--it seems to foster cooperation, stimulate creativity and problem solving, inspire engineering skills...and, when things go awry, offer opportunities for practicing positive anger management techniques--ha!)
And that, my friends, is how we're getting ourselves into the proper seasonal mindset to appreciate the bounty of Fall. Hey, we have the materials to make jack o'lanterns happen...the trick or treating supplies are already safely stashed away in the pantry for the 31st...I think we're well-prepared...have I earned a pumpkin spice latte? (Aren't you proud of me? I made it to the Very. Last. Sentence before working that in--extra whipped cream for me...whoo hoo!)
Friday, October 21, 2016
A Bit of History in Durham
It had been a while since my pal...Nikon...and I had been on an outing together, so I was tremendously pleased when I woke up today to find, not the gloomy, shower-y weather that had been forecasted, but rather a gloriously sunny, pleasantly cool Fall tableau on display outside the window. Even with a laundry list of "To Do" chores (which, oddly enough, did NOT include...actual laundry...for once) I couldn't pass up the golden opportunity to take an overdue Friday Field Trip.
One historical location that I'd been hemming and hawing about visiting since we moved to North Carolina over two years ago was the Duke Homestead. And I know what you're probably thinking...but no, not necessarily because of the association with that rival school up the road that we shun whenever possible. More so due to the fact that the Duke family made its money growing, and later processing, tobacco--which the well-preserved farm proudly showcases--and anyone who knows me even a little bit is aware of how I feel about that particular crop...and what it's used to make. (Relax, I'm not going to go off on a rant...I think you get the picture...)
But the site is close by and easy to get to, and I had a LOT of other stuff to take care of today, so I decided to give it a shot. By incredible good fortune, I arrived only shortly after the 10:15 guided tour had begun, so I was able to join the presentation already in progress. Now, normally I opt to forego these talks and just walk around on my own, but in this case I'm glad I didn't, since the lady leading the program was a veritable fountain of useful and interesting information. (She told us later that she's a graduate student at NC State in a new-ish field called Public History, which--rather than the more traditional academic side of the discipline--focuses on teaching you things like how to interpret history for the masses, how to run museums, and how to curate collections of artifacts. See what I mean? Super cool! Or was that just my nerdiness coming out? Yeah, it does that...)
Anyway, she talked about Washington Duke and his wives, children, service during the Civil War (for the Confederacy, of course), blah blah blah, which I did find relatively entertaining. Then when she moved on to explain the tobacco growing/curing/manufacturing business, I just stood there with what I hoped was a polite expression on my face, twitching in discomfort, waiting for it to be over.
If there was one thing that I took away from her narrative, however, it was this shocking story: in the late 1800s, Trinity College had been asking the wealthy Duke clan for a monetary contribution, to support and improve their institution. Eventually, Washington Duke agreed to donate what amounted to, in the equivalent of today's currency, about 40 million dollars...enough to get it renamed...you got it....Duke University. So...Duke was essentially endowed by one of the biggest tobacco companies in the U.S. at the time...just one more reason (for me, anyway) to give it the cold shoulder! Ha!
However, to be fair, the locally-famous patriarch also acted as an advocate for African Americans (establishing Durham's first hospital devoted to serving them--still segregated, yes, but it was a start), the Methodist church, and women (one of his large monetary gifts to the university came with the stipulation that they begin to admit female residential students--yay, W.D!). Our little history class finally ended up in the house, which was filled with furniture and household items that were either true to the historical period, or original to the family.
My absolute favorite piece had to be the "pie safe" (also, you have to imagine that spoken in the sweetest, most delicate Southern accent by our guide...I'll wait...can you hear it? Lovely...)--a handsome cabinet with punctured tin on its doors, to allow air to circulate and cool food, while keeping bugs and critters out. Or, as I dubbed it, "a pre-refrigerator"...) It was all utterly fascinating, to be sure...but after seeing the cast iron oven...contraption....and the corn husk mop, I'm convinced that, had I lived in the 19th century, I would have detested cleaning and cooking EVEN MORE than I do in my own time! Don't get me wrong, it's all very charming to look at and learn about...but give me a microwave and an electric floor cleaning device (if I must) any day thankyouverymuch.
So, that concludes my report on my brief, engaging foray into America's byegone days. It was a delightful way to spend a Friday morning, before commencing the mad rush of necessary errands. And, since all this...history....ing...left me ravenous, I made a slight detour to obtain some nachos, which I'd been craving, for reasons unknown. Which kind of sums up my final thought: exploring the past is undoubtedly rewarding, but it inevitably reminds me to give thanks for our blessed modern amenities...like fast food...am I right?
One historical location that I'd been hemming and hawing about visiting since we moved to North Carolina over two years ago was the Duke Homestead. And I know what you're probably thinking...but no, not necessarily because of the association with that rival school up the road that we shun whenever possible. More so due to the fact that the Duke family made its money growing, and later processing, tobacco--which the well-preserved farm proudly showcases--and anyone who knows me even a little bit is aware of how I feel about that particular crop...and what it's used to make. (Relax, I'm not going to go off on a rant...I think you get the picture...)
But the site is close by and easy to get to, and I had a LOT of other stuff to take care of today, so I decided to give it a shot. By incredible good fortune, I arrived only shortly after the 10:15 guided tour had begun, so I was able to join the presentation already in progress. Now, normally I opt to forego these talks and just walk around on my own, but in this case I'm glad I didn't, since the lady leading the program was a veritable fountain of useful and interesting information. (She told us later that she's a graduate student at NC State in a new-ish field called Public History, which--rather than the more traditional academic side of the discipline--focuses on teaching you things like how to interpret history for the masses, how to run museums, and how to curate collections of artifacts. See what I mean? Super cool! Or was that just my nerdiness coming out? Yeah, it does that...)
If there was one thing that I took away from her narrative, however, it was this shocking story: in the late 1800s, Trinity College had been asking the wealthy Duke clan for a monetary contribution, to support and improve their institution. Eventually, Washington Duke agreed to donate what amounted to, in the equivalent of today's currency, about 40 million dollars...enough to get it renamed...you got it....Duke University. So...Duke was essentially endowed by one of the biggest tobacco companies in the U.S. at the time...just one more reason (for me, anyway) to give it the cold shoulder! Ha!
My absolute favorite piece had to be the "pie safe" (also, you have to imagine that spoken in the sweetest, most delicate Southern accent by our guide...I'll wait...can you hear it? Lovely...)--a handsome cabinet with punctured tin on its doors, to allow air to circulate and cool food, while keeping bugs and critters out. Or, as I dubbed it, "a pre-refrigerator"...) It was all utterly fascinating, to be sure...but after seeing the cast iron oven...contraption....and the corn husk mop, I'm convinced that, had I lived in the 19th century, I would have detested cleaning and cooking EVEN MORE than I do in my own time! Don't get me wrong, it's all very charming to look at and learn about...but give me a microwave and an electric floor cleaning device (if I must) any day thankyouverymuch.
So, that concludes my report on my brief, engaging foray into America's byegone days. It was a delightful way to spend a Friday morning, before commencing the mad rush of necessary errands. And, since all this...history....ing...left me ravenous, I made a slight detour to obtain some nachos, which I'd been craving, for reasons unknown. Which kind of sums up my final thought: exploring the past is undoubtedly rewarding, but it inevitably reminds me to give thanks for our blessed modern amenities...like fast food...am I right?
Friday, October 14, 2016
The Latest Goofiness...
So, Husband had to go visit his parents in the wake of the recent hurricane, to help them get re-organized...clean up the inevitable debris in their yard...and deal with the anticipated pandemonium of the grocery stores that are likely to be swarmed by people needing to restock their refrigerators after losing all their food due to power outages. The bottom line for the rest of us left behind? All of the household silliness--rather than being shared and managed between two parental units--comes MY way while he's gone. Um...yaaayyy? What follows is representative of the conversational sample from this week so far:
D: "Where would I find soap?" (Then, helpfully clarifying) "Like, for the shower?"
Me: (Hesitating, wondering if this is a trick question, since I know that I JUST bought more, and placed it in the exact same spot where it's ALWAYS been kept) "Um...in the hall closet..."
D: (Looking mildly perplexed) "Really? 'Cuz I already looked there, and I didn't see it."
Me: (Unspoken response: Gasp! SHOCKER! Imagine...you...staring right at something and yet still missing it? Gee, that never happens!). But what actually came out was,"Go look again." Then the implication of his question hit me and I felt compelled to add, "Wait...so you showered with no soap?"
D: (Reassuringly) "No, I made do with the tiny bit that was left." (Well, that's a relief, anyway...)
I didn't hear anything further, and moved on to other matters, forgetting about this little issue. Then later, when I needed something from the linen closet, I noticed that the bars of soap had been opened, so I figured Derek had successfully managed to find them at last. I just couldn't help but ask, "So, was the soap close enough to where you were searching that it bit you on the toe?"
D: (With a sly grin, knowing he was about to say something ridiculous...which would most likely cause me to have a conniption) "It was WRAPPED. I don't know what it looks like in the wrapper."
Me: AAARRRRGHHHHH!
At this point Riley passed by, on his way to take his turn in the shower, and wondered about all the commotion, "What's the conversation about?" I proceeded to relate the tale of his brother's...ineptitude? Helplessness? Whatever... Riley nodded sagely during the telling, interrupting once to confirm, "You mean, on the floor of the linen closet?" (YESSSS! Finally, someone with a Y-Chromosome who doesn't suffer from Male Pattern...Visual...Obliviousness Disease! Yeah, yeah, I just made that up...but can I get an 'amen' from all my virtual sisters out there? It's totally a thing, right?)
Then he entered the bathroom, reached in to turn on the water...and loudly proclaimed that Derek STILL had failed to replace the soap. Sure, he stored some extras in the vanity cabinet...but did he place any in the actual soap dish? Not so much. When confronted, did he apologize for his inconsideration, and jump up rectify the situation? Pfft...he shrugged and flippantly retorted, "I already showered, so it wasn't my problem!" While I was glaring at him...and whacking him with a towel (admittedly completely ineffective as a consequence for his behavior, but extremely satisfying, nonetheless) Riley was standing by, in the throes of hysterical laughter. Before heading off to get clean, he sobered up enough to throw a parting shot over his shoulder, "Well...you wanted kids!" To which I shot back, "Yeah, but I'm not sure I wanted THAT one!" (Siiiighhhhh.....)
But wait, there's more...(isn't there always?)
Since Riley has soccer practice three nights a week this season, and I don't particularly enjoy the whole "preparing food" thing (which Husband finds incredibly ironic, given my well-known penchant for watching other people do it on the Cooking Channel) Derek has been experiencing...let's call it an invaluable opportunity to expand and refine his...Fending for Oneself skill-set. This tends to involve me either supervising or instructing, while he concocts his own dinner. (Sometimes I'm soooo tempted to start the process by handing him a basket with four mystery ingredients, informing him that he "also has use of our pantry", and setting a clock for 30 minutes...after which I would evaluate him on the taste, presentation, and creativity of his offering...before telling him he'd been "chopped" anyway--hahahahahaha!)
Now, keep in mind that so far (except for grilled cheese, which he's mastered) we haven't actually moved beyond rudimentary steps...such as microwaving, or heating up frozen items in the toaster oven...not exactly what you might call "gourmet cuisine", but he's gotta start somewhere, right? So anyway, one night when Riley had left, we made our way to the kitchen for the nightly ritual. Unlike most evenings, however, I was actually going to be following a new recipe I'd found, for a Brussels sprouts side dish. Therefore we were forced to kind of dance around each other as we moved from one appliance to the other, or jockeyed for available counter space.
(Side note: I was mostly to blame for this, since my directions called for me to employ the food processor to shred the sprouts...and I swear, when I was finished it looked like we'd suffered some kind of...vicious vegetable attack...with green, leafy shrapnel spread across most surfaces. How come the professional kitchens on TV never look like that? Oh yeah...support staff tidying up when the cameras aren't rolling. Think I can hire myself a crew...who would work for free? Wait...that's what children are for, right? Hot-diggity! Best. Idea. EVER...)
As I was saying: after dodging me yet again, Derek huffed in (mock) exasperation and announced, "We need a chef's kitchen!" (Let me pause for just a moment and acknowledge the fact that he knows this term...either warms the proverbial cockles....or makes me vow to ban him from binge-watching HGTV during the Summer...it's about 50/50...)
Me: "What are you talking about?"
D: (Working up a nice head of melodramatic steam...while completely faking the actual indignation)"When two people are trying to cook in here, there's not enough room! And with me needing to do more cooking for myself these day...with you people not providing for my every need anymore...we need a chef's kitchen." (My favorite part about it had to be the little dig about us super-mean parents, making him get his own dinner together. Nice one, dear! Oh, and by the way, "Too Bad"! Love, Mom and Dad...)
Me: No response really seemed necessary, so I just laughed at his little tirade and carried on with what I was doing. Then as we--without any difficulty whatsoever, mind you--skirted each other on the way to unload the dishwasher and put away the bread in the refrigerator, he vehemently concluded, "See? It's chaos in here, I tell ya!" (It was like...a surprise dinner theater performance...so I guess I should be...appreciative? And not forget to tip my waiter? Oy...)
Ay yi yi...eventually Riley--or, as I like to call him, Preferred Son (for right now, at least...the title is reassigned on a regular basis, as warranted) returned home from his team workout, famished as usual, and sat down to a bowl of the Brussels sprouts while his other course (Asian noodles, in case you were wondering) was nuking. While I was busy with my back turned toward him, I heard him abruptly exclaim, "This is so GOOD!" Wow...that's quite a reaction to Brussels sprouts, buddy. (I feel obligated to mention, here, that in our house, this particular item is considered something of a delicacy--such that when Husband saw them in the fridge, he expressed jealousy that we would be eating them without him while he was away. I know, I know...we're a weird bunch...)
So I regaled him with the tale of how messy they had been to prepare, likening the amount of effort and disarray to a "Thanksgiving-level recipe". His face fell slightly and he replied, "That's a shame ...because I'd eat these EVERY DAY." Needless to say, when I offered him seconds, he delightedly accepted, and powered through that serving as well. Yep,definitely the Preferred Son of the Moment...
Aaaannnd, that's the wrap-up for (3/4 of) Team WestEnders' week thus far. With the weekend coming, let's keep our fingers crossed for a quiet...nonsense-free...couple of days. Too much to ask? Maybe I'll just hide in my room and let them fend for themselves...I mean, what could possibly go wrong? (Don't answer that!)
D: "Where would I find soap?" (Then, helpfully clarifying) "Like, for the shower?"
Me: (Hesitating, wondering if this is a trick question, since I know that I JUST bought more, and placed it in the exact same spot where it's ALWAYS been kept) "Um...in the hall closet..."
D: (Looking mildly perplexed) "Really? 'Cuz I already looked there, and I didn't see it."
Me: (Unspoken response: Gasp! SHOCKER! Imagine...you...staring right at something and yet still missing it? Gee, that never happens!). But what actually came out was,"Go look again." Then the implication of his question hit me and I felt compelled to add, "Wait...so you showered with no soap?"
D: (Reassuringly) "No, I made do with the tiny bit that was left." (Well, that's a relief, anyway...)
I didn't hear anything further, and moved on to other matters, forgetting about this little issue. Then later, when I needed something from the linen closet, I noticed that the bars of soap had been opened, so I figured Derek had successfully managed to find them at last. I just couldn't help but ask, "So, was the soap close enough to where you were searching that it bit you on the toe?"
D: (With a sly grin, knowing he was about to say something ridiculous...which would most likely cause me to have a conniption) "It was WRAPPED. I don't know what it looks like in the wrapper."
Me: AAARRRRGHHHHH!
At this point Riley passed by, on his way to take his turn in the shower, and wondered about all the commotion, "What's the conversation about?" I proceeded to relate the tale of his brother's...ineptitude? Helplessness? Whatever... Riley nodded sagely during the telling, interrupting once to confirm, "You mean, on the floor of the linen closet?" (YESSSS! Finally, someone with a Y-Chromosome who doesn't suffer from Male Pattern...Visual...Obliviousness Disease! Yeah, yeah, I just made that up...but can I get an 'amen' from all my virtual sisters out there? It's totally a thing, right?)
Then he entered the bathroom, reached in to turn on the water...and loudly proclaimed that Derek STILL had failed to replace the soap. Sure, he stored some extras in the vanity cabinet...but did he place any in the actual soap dish? Not so much. When confronted, did he apologize for his inconsideration, and jump up rectify the situation? Pfft...he shrugged and flippantly retorted, "I already showered, so it wasn't my problem!" While I was glaring at him...and whacking him with a towel (admittedly completely ineffective as a consequence for his behavior, but extremely satisfying, nonetheless) Riley was standing by, in the throes of hysterical laughter. Before heading off to get clean, he sobered up enough to throw a parting shot over his shoulder, "Well...you wanted kids!" To which I shot back, "Yeah, but I'm not sure I wanted THAT one!" (Siiiighhhhh.....)
But wait, there's more...(isn't there always?)
Since Riley has soccer practice three nights a week this season, and I don't particularly enjoy the whole "preparing food" thing (which Husband finds incredibly ironic, given my well-known penchant for watching other people do it on the Cooking Channel) Derek has been experiencing...let's call it an invaluable opportunity to expand and refine his...Fending for Oneself skill-set. This tends to involve me either supervising or instructing, while he concocts his own dinner. (Sometimes I'm soooo tempted to start the process by handing him a basket with four mystery ingredients, informing him that he "also has use of our pantry", and setting a clock for 30 minutes...after which I would evaluate him on the taste, presentation, and creativity of his offering...before telling him he'd been "chopped" anyway--hahahahahaha!)
Now, keep in mind that so far (except for grilled cheese, which he's mastered) we haven't actually moved beyond rudimentary steps...such as microwaving, or heating up frozen items in the toaster oven...not exactly what you might call "gourmet cuisine", but he's gotta start somewhere, right? So anyway, one night when Riley had left, we made our way to the kitchen for the nightly ritual. Unlike most evenings, however, I was actually going to be following a new recipe I'd found, for a Brussels sprouts side dish. Therefore we were forced to kind of dance around each other as we moved from one appliance to the other, or jockeyed for available counter space.
(Side note: I was mostly to blame for this, since my directions called for me to employ the food processor to shred the sprouts...and I swear, when I was finished it looked like we'd suffered some kind of...vicious vegetable attack...with green, leafy shrapnel spread across most surfaces. How come the professional kitchens on TV never look like that? Oh yeah...support staff tidying up when the cameras aren't rolling. Think I can hire myself a crew...who would work for free? Wait...that's what children are for, right? Hot-diggity! Best. Idea. EVER...)
As I was saying: after dodging me yet again, Derek huffed in (mock) exasperation and announced, "We need a chef's kitchen!" (Let me pause for just a moment and acknowledge the fact that he knows this term...either warms the proverbial cockles....or makes me vow to ban him from binge-watching HGTV during the Summer...it's about 50/50...)
Me: "What are you talking about?"
D: (Working up a nice head of melodramatic steam...while completely faking the actual indignation)"When two people are trying to cook in here, there's not enough room! And with me needing to do more cooking for myself these day...with you people not providing for my every need anymore...we need a chef's kitchen." (My favorite part about it had to be the little dig about us super-mean parents, making him get his own dinner together. Nice one, dear! Oh, and by the way, "Too Bad"! Love, Mom and Dad...)
Me: No response really seemed necessary, so I just laughed at his little tirade and carried on with what I was doing. Then as we--without any difficulty whatsoever, mind you--skirted each other on the way to unload the dishwasher and put away the bread in the refrigerator, he vehemently concluded, "See? It's chaos in here, I tell ya!" (It was like...a surprise dinner theater performance...so I guess I should be...appreciative? And not forget to tip my waiter? Oy...)
Ay yi yi...eventually Riley--or, as I like to call him, Preferred Son (for right now, at least...the title is reassigned on a regular basis, as warranted) returned home from his team workout, famished as usual, and sat down to a bowl of the Brussels sprouts while his other course (Asian noodles, in case you were wondering) was nuking. While I was busy with my back turned toward him, I heard him abruptly exclaim, "This is so GOOD!" Wow...that's quite a reaction to Brussels sprouts, buddy. (I feel obligated to mention, here, that in our house, this particular item is considered something of a delicacy--such that when Husband saw them in the fridge, he expressed jealousy that we would be eating them without him while he was away. I know, I know...we're a weird bunch...)
So I regaled him with the tale of how messy they had been to prepare, likening the amount of effort and disarray to a "Thanksgiving-level recipe". His face fell slightly and he replied, "That's a shame ...because I'd eat these EVERY DAY." Needless to say, when I offered him seconds, he delightedly accepted, and powered through that serving as well. Yep,definitely the Preferred Son of the Moment...
Aaaannnd, that's the wrap-up for (3/4 of) Team WestEnders' week thus far. With the weekend coming, let's keep our fingers crossed for a quiet...nonsense-free...couple of days. Too much to ask? Maybe I'll just hide in my room and let them fend for themselves...I mean, what could possibly go wrong? (Don't answer that!)
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