(Very) little suffering for a good cause!

One feature we enjoy very much about the area we live in is that it's a very outdoor-oriented, fitness-friendly environment. For this reason, it's super-easy to find opportunities for organized running-- pretty much as often as you feel like lacing up your sneakers. The first such race Riley and I did when we moved here was the 5K for Education, which (as you might guess) benefits local schools, and since we already participated in it once, they kindly emailed me when it was coming up again this year.

So I asked the fam at dinnertime one night if they wanted to join us and make it a Team WestEnders event, but the response was...less than enthusiastic. To be fair, Husband did have a legitimate excuse, since it conflicted with his first soccer game of the Spring season. But Derek? "Nah," was his...succinct....tersely-delivered statement. When I just stared at him, waiting for some kind of coherent elaboration other than the teenage monosyllable, he finally added, "I didn't do it last time, so I'm not doing it now." Huh. That...doesn't even make sense, but we'll go ahead and count you out, I suppose. Then Riley turned to me and said, "Besides, it's a 'you and me' thing, right?" Well,  sweetie, if you put it that way, sure!

So the night before the race I laid out my outfit and gear, guaranteeing that I could sleep 'til the last possible moment, and prep quickly--two key components of any 5K day, as far as I'm concerned. (Hey, if I'm gonna be foregoing coffee...to RUN...in the MORNING....at least the getting ready part had better be relatively painless...) However, my brain apparently had other ideas, as I woke up earlier than necessary...due to a disturbing dream. It involved the 5K--which I had no earthly reason to be nervous or concerned about, so I reeeally don't know what was going on, here.

As far as I can recall, my subconscious had me struggling to secure a parking spot....in a crowded, 4-story garage, very close to the race's starting time. Then for some reason I walked away from my car, but I hadn't changed into my athletic clothes yet, so I had to go back and find where I'd left the vehicle...and I realized I was hopelessly lost. And confused. Also frustrated. As well as: now wide awake. Siiighhhh. For crying out loud, we don't even park in a garage for this race! I STILL don't understand what my stupid mind was trying to tell me....

To add to the...unsettling...beginning of the day, as I lay in bed shaking off the aftereffects of the semi-nightmare, I suddenly became aware of a telltale drip, drip, dripping outside my window. Oh...HECK no...but yes, in fact, it was raining. In my drowsy state, I commenced arguing in my head: but...but...AccuWeather assured me it was going to be nice this morning, then shower-y in the afternoon....that is supposed to mean, like, "later"! Apparently, though, they lied, because it was 44* and drizzly--altogether charming conditions to go for a nice 3.1 mile jog, yeah? (Right--I didn't think so, either...) Clearly it was time for some damage-control internal motivation...such as "it's only a half-hour, and you're done!" Or--even better--"just get through this, and you will definitely earn some hot chocolate afterwards!"

Riley and I were meeting up with one of my colleagues from the office at the starting line, so together we all stood around shivering and commiserating about the chilly dampness (which made it feel better, somehow, to share the...mild dose of misery). As usual, I wished Riley good luck and waved him goodbye before the gun (or, you know, "air horn") went off, since he'd be waaaay in front and muuuuuch faster than me. My work friend and I began the run in tandem, knowing that we'd probably separate at some point and each keep our own pace. I MIGHT have forgotten to properly warn her about how hilly the course is--or I'd blocked it from my own memory--but we parted ways after the first big incline, with a (panting) "keep it up--see you at the end!" (It's not called Chapel HILL for nothing, I tell ya...)

Now, given my recent knee...grumpiness...I hadn't run for 10 days, as a self-imposed period of R&R (Rest and Rehab), so I went into this one...cautiously optimistic? But mentally prepared for a less-than-ideal performance? However, I'm happy to report that there was no pain during the exercise...just verrry weary legs...followed by some soreness later in the evening, managed with ice and NSAIDS. Of course when I finished I spotted Riley standing around nonchalantly chatting with a soccer-and-school friend--appearing ever-so-slightly wet, but not the least bit winded or tired, and already munching on post-workout snacks.

Like a good son, he politely congratulated me and asked me my time. When I told him, his mouth quirked up in a small smile, and he casually mentioned, "Oh...I only came in about 9 MINUTES ahead of you!" Holy Speed Demon, Batman, that's crazy! So yeah, he PRd, with an under-21-minute total. Even nuttier, the buddy he was chatting with had finished first...out of all 483 runners. Because by this point we were cooling down and getting uncomfortable, we decided to leave before the awards, which was a shame, since it turned out that Riley won his age group, and would have been recognized. (Rats! Missed it!) Me? I was happy with a sub-10-minute mile...and the promised reward of my delayed-piping-hot-java.

Oh, and wouldn't you know--by noon, the clouds had lifted, the sun was shining brightly, and eventually the temperature rose to about 65. So, Riley and I ran, Derek did a 3-hour outdoor volunteer stint with the Eco-Crew he belongs to for Service Learning hours, and Husband played a soccer match...all while it was kind of raw and unpleasant. Oh, well...at least all of us are DONE with our physical activity for the day, and can relax and appreciate the gorgeous afternoon...while holding a steaming mug of tea and trying to warm up!

Playing at Work

A couple of years ago, when we still lived in Maryland, I experimented with doing some freelance editing, using online job aggregating sites to find and sign up for the tasks. But...several months of correcting other people’s overuse, or misuse, or lack of punctuation; creative (and not-in-a-good-way) spelling; unclear expression of ideas, and…crazy-ass…sentence structure, led me to several self-awareness breakthroughs.

First, I realized that, while I have a strong, innate love and respect for grammar and language, I have an equally low tolerance for seeing it butchered day in and day out. If I were to stick with this gig, in other words, I would surely--and not slowly--lose my ever-loving mind. Next, it became clear to me that I’m simply not cut out for the whole “work-at-home” paradigm. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand the allure of sitting around in one’s pjs, makeup-less, taking cookie breaks when the mood hits, …for some people.

But for me? Part of the intrinsic reward of being employed is donning an professional-ish outfit, getting presentable, leaving the house, and showing up someplace that I can interact with other adults while performing my job. Therefore when I was between paying gigs for a while after the move to North Carolina, combing Monster and Indeed and the like for viable possibilities, I quickly scrolled past any position that promised telecommuting as a so-called perk, without stopping to read the details. Just…No. Thank. You.

Fortunately I ended up at a small non-profit, where my duties require me to be physically present in the building, and to commune with my office-mates face-to-face. (Yay!) There are only 10 of us (all women!), but, having been there over a year now, I can tell you that not only are they fabulous people, but I’m discovering more and more all the time that we’re….shall I say…cut from the same…. (delightfully) nerdy…cloth.

The latest example of this occurred on Tuesday, when the Internet--which is apparently much more on top of things than I am...not surprisingly--informed me that it was, in fact, Pi Day. I’d somehow forgotten this very important fact, and was already at my desk, with no immediate means to obtain a baked treat to properly observe the occasion. I had to satisfy myself for the moment with wishing everyone a Happy Pi Day, using the whiteboard in the kitchen (which happens to be right across from my office). A short time later a colleague strolled by--probably on her way to get some hot tea, knowing her--and the next thing I knew, I heard a loud groan as she spotted my message.

Apparently others also were alerted to the minor commotion (sound carries extremely well in a suite as compact as ours) and joined us for an impromptu Hallway Meeting, all lamenting that we’d collectively forgotten to mark this excuse-for-pie-eating event. However, our regret quickly turned to scheming, as we discussed the fact that we ARE located right down the street from a Whole Foods….where we would certainly be able to procure a delicious pie to share amongst ourselves. In an impressive display of Women Getting Things Done, we quickly passed the motion…settled on a flavor preferred by the group (although most people simply said “YUM, pie! I’m not picky, whatever’s there will be great!”)…and accepted  a volunteer to make the purchase.

Then we were free to move on to other conversational topics—and I’m warning you: here’s where it takes a turn for the…uber geeky. I didn’t mention yet that the majority of the ladies I work with are highly-educated scientists, did I? Well…our little Pi Day adventure led to someone admitting that, while in college, she also celebrated…Mole Day. No, not the small, nearsighted, underground rodent…the scientific term that can be summarized in its short form as 6.022x10²³ . 

Yeeeaaaahhh…I was waaaay out of my element, but from the deepest recesses of my brain, where my high school chemistry class is apparently buried, biding its time and waiting for an opportunity like this to rear up and scare the bejeesus out of me, came the question that popped from my mouth, “Does that have something to do with…Avogadro’s number?” (For a moment I felt stunned, and looked around like, "Who said that? Is anyone else hearing things?" But no one else seemed concerned, so I just went with it...) The answer, in case you’re wondering (and haven’t run screaming from the room in horror) is yes…yes, it does. Therefore on October 23^rd, we’ll be enjoying some…guaca-mole. Ha!

Ohh...kay, I admit that things might have begun to veer toward the…slightly silly…but were we done? Nooooo, we were absolutely NOT. I swear, at the exact same time everyone’s expressions became thoughtful and one woman spoke up to articulate what we were all apparently thinking, “Hmm…what other days can we do?” Tentatively I offered, “The only thing that springs to mind is May the Fourth (Be with You), aka Star Wars Day. Faces brightened at once, and the wheels began turning as to how we could fulfill this theme. “Um…Death Star?” I suggested. Someone instantly enthused, “Yes! A cheese ball Death Star!” (Oh…my…goodness. That is some...goofy brilliance, yeah?) But wait, it gets even better: another lady exclaimed, “And I’ll make a model of BB8 out of marshmallow-rice-cereal treats, covered in fondant!” (Mwahhahahahaha!)

With these crucial agenda items having been resolved to the satisfaction of all, for our Grand Finale someone proposed that we honor Harry Potter as well (because, you know, if you’re gonna be a dork, might as well go all-in…) “Great idea!” I agreed, “We can do it on his birthday, July 31^st!” This carried by a unanimous vote, and our conference ended on a very high note, with all of us looking forward to the awesome upcoming excuses we’d created, to socialize…and EAT. (Oh, yeah, and bask in our shared love for…academia’s lighter side? Or what have you…)

My amusement hadn’t worn off in the slightest when I relayed all this to the Male Trio later that evening—and their reactions were exactly as I expected. Disbelief, such as when Husband asked, “How do you remember when Harry Potter was born?” (Um, seriously, dude? How do you NOT? It’s only mentioned in Every. Single. Book! Sheesh…) And a certain degree of scorn, from Derek, who sputtered, “No one celebrates MOLE day…no one! You guys are soooo weird!” Looooots of head shaking. And in the midst of all this mocking, one very helpful bit of input, again from Husband, who in response to the Star Wars plan, interjected, “Why don’t you just make Wookie Cookies and be done with it?” 

YESSSSS! Thank you, dear—I will make that happen. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re nice to me and the Nerd Girl Squad, we’ll let you taste one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to do some research…to see if there are any MORE cool numbers we can translate into party dates and exploit for our office shenanigans! (Peanut Gallery comments welcome, in this case!)

Spring! Or...Winter? Weather Whiplash, I tell ya...

When people ask me why Team WestEnders decided to relocate to North Carolina, one of the reasons I always cite is the fact that I was D-O-N-E with the long, shivery Winters, punctuated by frequent frozen precipitation--even though I acknowledge that it was only Maryland and not, say, Boston or (heaven forbid) Fill-In-The-Blank Town in any portion of the Midwest. So it cracked me up during our first two "cold seasons" in Chapel Hill when folks who'd been here much longer than us would lament that we were having "such a bad Winter!" To us, the typical pattern of freezing temps overnight, followed by daytime highs of 50-ish, felt not only completely tolerable, but even kind of...balmy...by comparison to what we'd left behind.

After experiencing THIS January and February, however, I finally understand what everyone was trying to explain. I guess that "normal" Winters here in the Triangle also are supposed to include a generous sprinkling of 60-and-70-degree days...where it's so darn nice outside, you feel compelled to throw open the windows...even while the wee voice in the back of your mind goes, "Are you crazy? Look at the calendar! Now you'd better cut it out, or I'm telling Mother...Nature!" This is apparently what everyone meant, about how Winter is expected to behave.

And, don't get me wrong: it was possibly the most pleasant stretch between Fall and Spring that I've ever gotten to enjoy. I've got to admit, though, that it threw me a little bit. For one thing, I always buy one box each of Celestial Seasoning Candy Cane Lane and Nutcracker Sweet--my favorite HOT tea flavors--knowing that when it's time to switch to the iced variety (for which I use good old plain Lipton), they'll be gone. Um...except....not this year. And for the first time in...well...forever...none of us felt the need to put flannel sheets on our beds. Heck, the warm-blooded sons didn't even sleep under their comforters this year! And while we're on the subject of those heat producing organisms, I don't think they used their coats at all this Winter...okay, if we're being totally honest--they probably only stooped to wearing long pants a handful of times, either.

But then, just when you believe you got away with dodging an icy bullet--having a relatively warm season with only one minor weather event--March comes blustering in. Now, we'd also been told that, around here, March heralds the arrival of Spring...and I don't mean chronologically, since that happens at the same time for everyone, but rather, symbolically, on Day 1, when you turn the page on your calendar and (happily) leave February behind. The last 2 years, this has held true, with gentler weather bringing forth the daffodils and nudging the trees to begin blooming right around the first of the month. However, things seemed to get a bit...confused...by the early warmth and sunshine we enjoyed in February, which caused the plants to just burst forth with buds and blossoms waaaay ahead of their usual schedule.

It was startling...and gorgeous...and sneezy, no doubt. In retrospect, I should have known the natural progression of things would be in disarray this year, when I was standing on the sidelines of a soccer field in February without even a jacket, basking in the rays. Then March showed up...and she's a little...ahem...frostier than we've come to anticipate. I don't know, perhaps she's miffed that February stole some of her thunder, or maybe she feels (like I do, actually) that we didn't truly SUFFER enough in the past few supposedly-harsh months to DESERVE such lovely conditions.

So yesterday's soccer match, in contrast, required several fleecy layers, topped with a coat, to stave off the biting wind and chilly temps. (I should have brought gloves, but stubbornly refused to do so...instead opting for the much tastier option of a steaming cup of coffee to coax sensation back into my hands...) And then, this morning, we woke up to this nonsense:
Granted, it was only a dusting of the white stuff...and what you see there is actually ALL that happened....and, okay, okay, it was kind of picturesque...but c'mon, March, REALLY? Hasn't anyone ever told you that flakes and flowers don't mix? I'm sorry that February upstaged you, but do us all a favor and get over yourself, so we can move on with Spring...'kay? Thankyouverymuch.

Of course, this being North Carolina, the scene was much different only a few short hours later, when the clouds had dissipated, the sun was out full-force, and, although the air was still a somewhat nippy mid-40s, the powdery coating had evaporated completely, as though it never existed. All of which makes me extremely grateful that I'm HERE, and not, say, in my old hometown, where I'm gathering from the outpouring of outrage on Facebook that they're gearing up for....a foot of frozen precipitation on Monday. I'm filled with an abundance of sympathy, believe me, but I'm also sooooooo happy to be living through that s...tuff....vicariously, these days! So I will raise a mug (or two or three) of hot tea to my friends and family...before I head outside to play...and maybe offer March a sacrifice to appease her mood? Hmm...I know, how about whatever tea bags I don't manage to drink my way through by the end of this week? A toast...to Spring!

Odds and Ends

Don't strain yourself trying to find a theme in today's wandering narrative, because I'll tell you right now that there isn't one. Just some random stories that popped up during the past week that made us chuckle. There, now you can relax and read on... (You're welcome!) 

So, one recent evening I was in the middle of making the roasted butternut squash soup recipe that I love, but I’d forgotten that I needed an onion. Without a second thought, I hopped in the car and drove over to the nearest grocery store to pick one up…’cuz that’s just what you do, yeah? It wasn’t until I’d returned that Husband pointed out, “You totally wasted an opportunity to send Derek to do your emergency supply run!” Ohhhh…RIGHT! Yes, I absolutely should have made the minion--um "beloved son"-- take care of that for me. Rats! Clearly, I'm not yet used to the idea of being able to exploit the driving teenager for my pesky little chores—I’ll have to work on that!

Another entry in the category of “Things That Have Changed Lately, and Require Parental Adjustment” (ugh, that’s a terrible title…hmm…how about “New Stuff That Freaks Us Out?” Yeah, that's much better…): last Sunday night, Husband stuck his head into the room where I was reading and announced, “One of them just pulled up in the car. And the other one is downstairs…shaving!”

He paused for a moment, looking somewhat bemused, before extending a hand, approximately waist-high and asking, “What happened to our cute, little children?” While this could very well have been interpreted as a rhetorical question, I suspected that he actually wanted an answer. But the truth is, although they’re still cute, and still ours, the “little” part disappeared quite some time ago, and we’re just gonna have to accept it. (It’s fine, really! I’m okay...sniffle….)

And one more—over the weekend we tried to figure out a good time for me to take the boys for haircuts. (I swear it's every 2 months, like clockwork—it’s almost eerily predictable. I suppose we can just go ahead and add that to the column of "things that are easier when you're a GUY!) But with their social activities, and homework, and televised sporting events they just HAD to watch (college basketball. The madness is real…) we couldn’t pinpoint a free window of time to make the trip.

Then they found out about the newly granted midweek reprieve from school, for International Women’s Day, which opened up another option. “But you’ll have to wait until I get home at 2:15,” I told them, “How does that sound?” Riley grimaced and sheepishly replied, “Um…there’s a Champion’s League [professional soccer] match that starts around that time…” I was about to groan about being thwarted again when it hit me: they could take their own dang selves to Great Clips and get it done while I was at work! (The heavens brightened, and I heard a distant chorus of Hallelujah from on high…or just, you know, my overactive imagination…)

When I shared my brilliant scheme with Derek, however, he was…skeptical? Concerned? Let’s just say there was a definite lack of confidence in his demeanor, even as I assured him it would be fine. I mean, it’s not like he hasn’t been there for each and every grooming session in the past, so he’s seen how it’s done. The only thing he actually voiced was, “Can you give us money for it?” Okay, that’s fair; although he has a debit card, he’s not responsible for paying for this kind of…personal upkeep…at least at this point in his young life. Mom and Dad can continue to shell out for the salon visits—so I gave him the exact amount he’d need, including the gratuities for each stylist, along with explicit instructions for how it should be divided (not leaving anything to chance…or better yet, the unpredictable workings of the Teenage Boy Brain).

As it turned out, they handled their inaugural Solo Haircut Field Trip with ease. When I returned from my day at the office, there they were, freshly shorn and looking much neater than when I’d left. As a bonus, they informed me that there had been a sale going on, so they basically got a 2-for-1 deal. Of course, this caused Derek to have to figure out the tip by himself,...and given his inexperience with these matters, and his aversion to doing math outside of school hours, he left a verrrry generous amount. (But really, that’s never a bad way to go, so I’m not gonna discourage it…)

And there you have it, tales from a relatively quiet week around Casa WestEnders. Hey...I have a few more days to figure out what errands I don't feel like doing, that I can foist off on Derek this weekend. Maybe I'll just tell him International Women's Day was soooo successful that they decided to extend it...to a week-long celebration...mwah hah hah!

Celebrating Women...and Goofy Boys...

North Carolina typically shows up on political maps as a predominantly "Red" state, but there are pockets of liberal...ness...tucked in here and there, of which my little corner of the world--Chapel Hill and Carrboro--fits the definition to a T. Now, this has never been more apparent--as one might expect--than in the...unsettled...days since the 2016 election, when people in our 'hood have been compelled to voice their concerns about the reigning atmosphere of chaos caused by the new, so-called "leader" of our country. For example, in January somewhere between 10-and 15,000 people joined a Women's March in Raleigh to coincide with the larger one in D.C. Then, restaurants and businesses closed in support of A Day Without Immigrants in February; my sons also noted that there were students and teachers missing from their schools that day as well (with their absences deemed "fully excused" on the attendance records, I might add).

And now, there's this (quoted directly from the official email everyone received from the Interim Superintendent of Chapel Hill/Carrboro City Schools):  "This coming Wednesday, March 8, is International Women’s Day, and has also been deemed, “A Day Without a Woman.”

Women across the nation, as well as men, will be participating in a one-day demonstration to recognize the value of women. As part of this demonstration, many will be staying home from work.

In recent weeks, I started hearing from staff members who indicated they will not be coming to work on Wednesday, March 8. As we get closer to that date, I have heard from more and more staff that they will also be absent. I asked our school principals and central office department heads to survey staff to find out how many absences would occur.

The results came back, and the number was significant. In fact, it is my determination that we will not have enough staff to safely run our school district.

To that end, I am declaring Wednesday, March 8 as an optional teacher workday. There will be no school for students, and no on-site child care. Students will not be required to make up this day as the system is on schedule to meet the required number of instructional hours for the school year."

Soooo...I sat there with my mouth hanging open for a moment thinking nothing more coherent than..."Holy guacamole--this is BIG! And pretty dang cool, too..." I soon found out, however, that this was one of those times when the only female in Casa WestEnders might have been radically separated from the Male Trio with her opinions...as evidenced by the following exchange between me and a certain almost-17-year-old: 

Me: "So, Derek, did you hear about the 'no school on Wednesday' deal?" 

Derek: (vehemently) "Yeah, it's ridiculous. Wednesday was gonna be so great!"

Me: (extraordinarily confused, as this was not at ALL what I anticipated) "Oh-kaaaay...why?"

Derek: (sparing me a quick sideways glance, disbelief plastered all over his features, due to the fact that he actually has to explain this to me, when it should be blatantly obvious) "NO GIRLS at school! Half my teachers would even be missing! No whining, no drama..."

Me: (comprehension dawning) "Ohhhhh, I get it. But I really thought your reaction would be 'That's sooooo Carrboro!'"

Derek: (with passionate conviction) "Oh, it IS. Believe me, this wouldn't be happening in...Rougemont!" (Clarification: Rougemont is a tiny, rural town slightly to our northeast, which Derek associates inextricably in his mind with the idea of "backwater outpost"---you know, having spent a very brief time there...exactly ONCE...)

Me: (sighing) "Oh, good grief, child. Let me tell you a story that you're sure to love." (He hasn't learned to fear that kind of lead-in yet, from lack of experience in his young life. Soon enough, he'll recognize these dangerous phrases, and figure out that he should run screaming in the other direction when he hears one. But for now, he stuck around to listen...mwah hah hah!)

I launched into my tale: "A colleague from work (we'll call her Ann...onymous. Get it? Ha!) was visiting friends who have a 3-ish-year old daughter. Ann was playing with the little girl, who was offering her food items from her make-believe store. When Ann asked how much they cost, the toddler told her "4 LadyBucks." Ann, perplexed and thinking she'd misheard, asked why she had to pay in 'ladybugs.' But the child showed her a set of pretend money her parents had given her, where each 'dollar' was worth only 79-cents...to represent the amount that women earn, compared to men. 

(I know, right? Freakin' hilarious...and downright clever...and perhaps just a wee bit absurd...but mostly the first two...)

I sat there smugly pleased with my delivery, waiting for Derek to make some sort of comment, or indeed to respond in any way, but he seemed momentarily stunned into speechlessness, gaping at me soundlessly. "C'mon, isn't that awesome?" I finally prompted. At which point he managed to gather his wits and sputter, with a good head of steam, "WHY are they teaching their 3-year old about the WAGE GAP? I guarantee you, when my kid's 3, they're gonna hear about why it was a terrible idea to move Andrew McCutcheon to Right Field! Yep, all sports, and that's IT!"

Although I was impressed that he threw in the term "wage gap" (thank you, 10th grade Civics class), I nevertheless replied, "Well, maybe their MOTHER will tell them about women's issues..." But he was ready this time with a quick retort, "Then I never would have married her, believe me!" 

Apparently my mentioning my work-mates triggered another thought, as--before I had a chance to properly address his distressing lack of support for gender equality--his next question was, "So, is your office participating in this, 'cuz it seems like they would be the kind of people who would?" I replied, "I'm sure they'd like to, but it depends on stuff like meetings, and how much they have to do, and whether they can afford the time off." He slyly continued, "You mean, it isn't an official holiday?" And then, facetiously,"Hey, is this one of those gift-giving occasions? Is it like...your second Christmas, or something?"

I could sense that our...special little chat...was devolving into utter silliness, and I was just about to put a stop to it when he burst out with his final conversational jab, "Hey, why don't MEN get an International Day? It's not fair!" In reply, I hit him with a whole...purseload...of indignant sarcasm: "Um...that's kind of the POINT, dear--EVERY day is Men's Day!" The Last Word was to be his, however, as he triumphantly crowed, "Yeah...but we don't get to stay home..and FLAUNT it like you do!"

So, after I'm done rolling my eyes (and possibly smacking him with a rolled-up copy of some kind of...I don't know...Feminist Manifesto, or something...anyone know where I can find one of those?) I'll get to work figuring out how I can mold my boys into more sensitive, understanding, knowledgeable proponents of women's rights...because clearly their training is not yet complete. Heeeyyy...maybe I'll stay home on Wednesday with them and we can all bond while reading about the lives of influential women from throughout history, like Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, Sally Ride, and the like. Oooh....and just we don't neglect the emotional component of their education....a John Hughes marathon! Wheeeeee! This is gonna be such a blast...for ME, anyway!

Getting Schooled

Since Team WestEnders relocated to North Carolina at the conclusion of an academic year, we missed all of the transitional activities associated with moving from Elementary to Middle and Middle to High school. Therefore when registering Derek and Riley for their new scholastic homes—although the counselors, when we identified who they were, turned out to be very pleasant and helpful—it kind of felt like flying by the seat of our collective pants to get them into the appropriate classes.

But not this time, buddy! Lucky (?) Riley gets the full monty when it comes to making the leap to High School. Not only will he himself hear presentations from—and have meetings with—counselors from both programs, but his parents (or, you know, “Mom”) will take the opportunity to attend such scintillating events as Rising 9^th Grade Information Night (at his current school), and Rising Freshmen Course Night (at Chapel Hill High). In case you’re wondering just what kind of serious biz we’re talking about, here: he was given a worksheet to plan out his schedule for the coming year (reasonable and useful)…as well as a spreadsheet-kind-of-thing so he could map out his entire secondary school career. (What the WHAT? Overkill? Or tremendous foresight? I’ll let you be the judge, ‘cuz I’m just not sure…) In other words, they are Not. Messing. Around, folks.

On top of that, Riley—true to form—wanted to do everything he could to ensure that he made his best decisions…which meant discussing it with Husband…and me…and even his older brother (believe it or not). I mean, really, as a Freshman, you have very little room for creativity, anyway, so it wouldn’t seem to warrant such deep analysis, not to mention multiple brainstorming sessions. However, it seems to be the unspoken shared mission of the Guidance departments to…scare the bejeesus out of the poor 8^th graders…all under the guise of “informing and cautioning the kids”, of course. 

I’m talking about the fact that they urge you, in the strongest possible terms--and with visual charts to make it even clearer, in case you had any chance of missing their point--to consider the amount of homework that will (without exception) be heaped upon your weary head (absolutely) each night, should you elect to sign up for multiple Honors-level classes. And the numbers they throw out there ARE pretty terrifying, actually—adding up to several hours of unrelenting evening toil on a daily basis. It’s enough to make you cower in your chair and rethink changing all your selections to Standard-level…that is, if you believe them.

But here’s the thing: they’re totally exaggerating. (Like, almost to the point of “Hmm…that’s a big old whopper you’re feeding us, there, O Wise Counselor”.) And I get it—they need to do this, in order to make you ponder long and hard how much you’re willing to take on in big, bad High School. All I can say is, thank goodness Riley has Derek to be the voice of reason (Ha! I know, that seems…unlikely. Okay, how about “the voice of one who’s gone before and can tell you how it reeeally is." Better?) and reassure him that it’s not nearly as...dramatic...as they make it out to be. The bottom line is: sure, you’ll have tons of homework some nights, but others you’ll have less, and occasionally you’ll have little, or even none. As is so often true, as long as you manage your time and stay on top of things, you’ll be fine—and my kid who already uses a whiteboard to keep track of his assignments and soccer practices…doesn’t worry me AT ALL in that area.

The thing that cracks me up, though, is that waaaay back when I was 13 and preparing to enter the High School fray, I swear I got the Exact. Same. Spiel. So I sat there listening to “it’ll be very demanding, you’ll have to commit to working extremely hard, take some time to think about whether Honors classes are actually right for you, blah blah blah” and inside, I went, “Pffttt, whatever. You’re not frightening me, Counselor-person. I’m onto you—see what I have in my hand, here? It’s a big old grain of salt” (As in,”I’m taking your advice with…” Oh, never mind…perhaps I’m just waiting for someone to bring me a margarita…) 

Because, you see, I learned my own lesson when I went through this process. Yep, I swallowed the warning hook, line, and sinker, became concerned that I couldn’t handle a schedule full of Honors courses, and opted to step down a level in what I considered my weakest subject…Science.

WELL! How did that turn out, you might wonder? Let’s put it this way: to call that a “mistake” would be a colossal understatement, which became painfully obvious within the first few days of class, when the pace and complexity of the work—so different from what I was used to and what felt comfortable to me--demonstrated that this was N-O-T where I belonged. 

Don’t get me wrong, the teacher, the students, and the material were all completely swell…just not the right…intensity…for me, personally. Therefore I went straight to my Guidance Counselor and pleaded my case to switch into a more appropriate class. And even with my track record and impassioned argument, they gave me what I judged to be a ridiculously hard time, before relenting and allowing me to make the change. So if I can use my experience to prevent my son from having to deal with this kind of…nonsense...all the better!

The reality is that for 9^th grade, you’ve got your required English, Math, Social Studies and Science—with a small bit of leeway within some of those categories…but it’s easy enough just to follow the recommended sequence and be done with it. Then there's the mandatory year of PE, so everyone tends to get that out of the way right off the bat. (Ha! Sorry…) Riley will continue with Spanish (yaaaay!), which then leaves only one slot to fill. Many kids elect to drop in a Study Period, which we found to benefit Derek, in terms of giving him extra reading/study for tests/homework flexibility, so we encouraged Riley to go ahead and do that as well. 

Aaannnd…BOOM! That looks like a Freshman year schedule, y’all! Oh, and the part at the bottom of the form, where they require a parent’s signature if you’re registering for 3 or more Honors classes? Yeah, pass me the pen and I’ll take care of that….

5 kilometers...of torture!

Team WestEnders rolled the meteorological dice and decided to run a local 5K this past December--and afterwards heaped praise upon the benevolent Weather Gods for bestowing a damp, 50-ish, overcast day for the event, rather than the frigid, windy, or rainy alternatives one could reasonably expect at that time of year. Figuring that we'd pressed our luck quite enough, we then came to the mutual agreement that we'd take the cautious route, and not register for anything outdoorsy in January or February, since our (admittedly limited, but so-far reliable) experience thus far has shown that Spring tends to arrive in North Carolina around March 1st.

However, that resolution of sorts quickly was tossed out the window...at least for me...as the fresh-air fitness group I recently joined invited its members to participate together in a longstanding 5K that happens in Raleigh each year...in February. When I heard this, my immediate reaction was something along the lines of, "Oh, why the heck not!" Even if conditions were less-than-favorable, I rationalized, being there with a posse would make it more fun...and that length of course generally takes me less than a half-hour, anyway, so how bad could it be?

Oh, be careful what you ask, my friends, because the answer to that rhetorical question turned out to be: "pretty doggone tough"...as my personal race was beset by a perfect storm of factors causing it to...well..."suck", if you will. Let me explain: first of all, Winter seemingly up and vamoosed waaaaaay early this year...and race day--believe it or not--developed into a blazingly sunny...blustery...near-80* spectacle. Now, don't get me wrong, I do loooove me some balmy temperatures...but I kind of prefer a LITTLE transition time to adapt, rather than out-of-the-blue Summertime, when I'm gonna run 3.1 miles. (And really, is that too much to hope for? I didn't think so...)

And I mentioned the WIND, right? To be clear, I'm not talking about some light breezes that gently caress your skin while you blithely trot around the track, soaking up your Vitamin D (or, you know, having it scorched into your super-pale Irish hide, or whatever). Nope...more like "gusts powerful enough to force a me-sized woman to duck her head and push back to maintain forward progress. Can I just say: "Yippee! What a freakin' HOOT..." To add to the...festivities...the path itself proved to be one of the hilliest I've yet competed on (using that term extremely loosely, since my goals for these activities usually include such lofty items as "finish" and "don't be dead last, if at all possible").

Finally, in an attempt to ameliorate the delightful knee pain I've recently been dealing with, I'd bought a fresh pair of cushy kicks a few days prior to the race. They felt super-squish-ily-comfortable in the store, but I hadn't had time to test them out on actual pavement-type material, meaning that they were a bit of a wild card as I waited at the starting line. And--I suspect fellow runners will understand this--the first time you wear a brand new set of sneakers, no matter how nice they are, the workout isn't going to be perfect. It's hard to describe...the best I can tell you is that while the shoes may fit properly and do their job, there's something about needing your feet to mold to them, or experimenting to get the laces exactly right, that makes them seem just a wee bit...not-yet-quite-right.

Oh! I almost forgot one last thing: this particular 5K began at 2 p.m., rather than the usual 8 or 9 in the morning. (I guess they expect, in a typical February, to wake up to sub-zero on the thermometer, and want to give it time to warm up, so people aren't standing around with frostbitten toes and such...as opposed to this year, when most of us were probably seriously considering whether they should run back to the car and dig out the sunscreen to avoid a pink nose. Ha! The "best laid plans"...and whatnot...) Because of this, I'd eaten breakfast as usual...but procrastinated about having anything else. You see, my stomach likes to be as empty as possible when I go trotting around, so the bottom line is that I never did get around to fueling up, and eventually forgot...until the hollow emptiness in the region of my midsection let out an enormous starving gurgle...just as they were calling everyone to get assembled....and it was too late.

So I suppose it shouldn't have been a great surprise--or even really much of a disappointment--that I managed my SLOWEST 5K of all time. How awful was it? I even had to concede to walking a couple of times, when, from the bottom of one of those aforementioned inclines, I gazed upward and my legs made the executive decision for me, "Uh-uh! Not having it! No way!" (You've heard of PRs? Well, this was my...PW...which is totally NOT a thing, because who'd want to remember that kind of stat, anyway? But I digress....)

However, with all that being said...I did complete the darn thing...and I most certainly didn't straggle in at the end. (In fact, I witnessed more people stopping and strolling than I've ever seen at one of these, so it wasn't just me feeling the literal and/or metaphorical "burn"...) Even better, when I got home and checked the results (because no matter how terrible it might have seemed...yes, I AM that compulsive) I discovered that my tortoise-like 30:35 was good enough for 266th in a field of 579...and 13th out of 37 in my age group.

Frankly, this was soooo much better than I expected--therefore, even though the activity itself couldn't be called "enjoyable" by any stretch of the imagination, I'm gonna go ahead and put it in the WIN column nevertheless. And most likely chalk this one up to "been there, done that" and thus "never to be repeated". That'll teach me to sign up for a 5K in February, yeah?

Breezing Through Charleston...

For some reason known only to the Powers That Be...In Charge and Whatnot...our school system elected not to observe President's Day this year, and so deprived the students of their usual 3-day respite from the academic rat race. Now, this wouldn't normally have been too big a deal...except that Riley's soccer coach entered the team in a tournament...in Charleston, SC, with games on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh well, so much for "restful and relaxing time off", yeah?

More so than with a local event, this involved some logistical considerations. For example, whether to leave the older brother at home alone (which to this point has never been done before, so it poses a bit of a parental dilemma) or drag him along for very special Family Togetherness Time. In all honesty, I'm sure...pretty sure...say, 85-90% sure...Derek would have been fine on his own. But I, personally, just wasn't completely ready to abandon him to fend for himself this time (maybe in May--when the next out-of-town tournament comes up--I'll feel differently. Check back later...).

Then there was the fact that--as much as I love watching my son play--my soccer threshold definitely has an upper limit. To be specific: two games in a weekend is hunky-dory; three is pushing it. Besides, there would be shuttling back and forth to the fields, and the Male Trio would be attending an exhibition MLS match as part of the team's bonding experience...all of which is to explain why I lobbied for it to be a two-car operation. That way Husband and Riley could head down on Friday night, with Derek and me joining them for the second contest on Saturday afternoon.

With all that being worked out, we bid the early delegation of Team WestEnders farewell on Friday when Riley arrived home from school. Then Derek and I packed ourselves up first thing Saturday morning and hit the road as well. Husband had texted me about a nasty construction zone they encountered--which had proved both slow and annoying the night before--and provided a suggested alternative route to avoid the problem. Armed with this information, we set out on roads that were much more rural than the 95 South corridor I'd originally planned to take. As such, it was most assuredly more scenic, but also had its share of irritants, such as stoplights...pokey drivers impeding our progress on 2-lane byways...and a distinct lack of viable outposts where a gluten-free vegan could obtain acceptable sustenance.

Despite all these...minor obstacles...we managed to make it just in time for kickoff--so I'm gonna go ahead and call that a Travel Win. After the action on the pitch wrapped up (a hard-fought contest, but resulting in a 2-1 loss for Riley's squad), we all caravan-ed to the hotel, to get cleaned up and prepared for the evening's agenda. For the guys, this meant the aforementioned Bonus Soccer; as for me, I opted to spend a couple of my free hours driving into the city and exploring on foot, since I can't even remember how long it's been since the last time I visited Charleston. Therefore I parked my car near the waterfront (which was admittedly difficult to appreciate since it was, you know, DARK by this time, but whatever) and strolled up and down King Street, through the bustling retail district.

I don't know if it was the holiday weekend, or the balmy temperatures, but the town was absolutely hoppin'--a constant stream of people wandering in and out of the many stores, restaurants, and pubs. There were families juggling ice cream cones (yes, in February--I wasn't exaggerating about how mild the weather was), couples enjoying their date nights, groups of friends discussing where to eat or hang out, packs of uniformed students (I had forgotten that Charleston is home to the Citadel) walking along and quietly chatting in an impressively polite and dignified manner. All-in-all, it was the perfect people-watching and window-shopping extravaganza.

Back at Comfort Suites HQ, the group consensus was to turn in on the early side, since Riley's Sunday game was scheduled for 8 a.m. (meaning their coach wants them at the field for warmups at 7:30...all together now: "Ugh". And by the way, what sort of borderline-sadist makes these arrangements? Oh, right...some people actually are naturally "early risers"...or, as I like to call them..."weirdos"....but that may just be the severe coffee-deprivation talking...)

So in the morning (far too soon, if you ask me) we hauled ourselves out of bed...to witness 3 police cars out front...and a body being removed from the premises on a stretcher. (SEE? It just goes to show you that nothing good happens at that time of the day. Sheesh.) Anyway, after a hasty breakfast (or in my case, cup of java) Derek and I joined the rest of the fam at the field for the conclusion of the sports portion of our getaway. It was already sunny, warm, and gorgeous, so when the final whistle blew, we formulated a scheme to venture into Charleston one more time for lunch and a scenic tour of the market and harbor area. (The understandably exhausted Riley took a little coaxing, but the prospect of being FED finally convinced him....barely...)

We had ruled out an excursion to Fort Sumter--although I was definitely interested--because it required a boat ride...and a time commitment we just couldn't afford on this whirlwind adventure. Instead we browsed the open-air market, filled with stalls selling a dizzying array of items--from fresh flowers to artwork to cheesy souvenir t-shirts to jewelry to handcrafted one-of-a-kind home decor. Then, after at least making a token effort to stop by and admire the water, we realized we'd better drop everything else and focus on getting Riley some food, since he was noticeably flagging by this point.

Typically we struggle with finding a place that both meets (my) dietary requirements AND is also appetizing to all four of us...but this time Husband went straight to Google and in a remarkably short while pulled up an eatery that sounded intriguing to everyone. The Brown Dog Deli offered plenty of meat-based sandwiches for the carnivores, as well as entire sections of the menu devoted to vegetarian and vegan dishes (and gluten-free bread, if one needed it). Sold!

When we got there they told us there'd be about a 20-minute wait--which turned out to be much less, so we were glad we stuck it out...especially when our delicious meals were placed in front of us. Can I just say: YUMMMM. It wasn't just me, either: everyone's palates were pleased, and their stomachs satisfied, with their choices. And looking back, I think fortune must have been favoring us when we stumbled upon this cute little cafe, since the line for a table had grown until it extended out the door and down the sidewalk, by the time we were finished and leaving. (Whew!)

After that, there was nothing left to do but get back in the car...AGAIN...and navigate northward. It had been a fun--albeit jam-packed and tiring--jaunt, and 3/4 of our crew had to return to work...and the hallowed halls of learning...on Washington and Lincoln's Day. Oh, that's right--did I neglect to mention that I was the ONLY one who actually got to take advantage of the recovery Monday? Yep, lucky me! (Okay, we all know that in reality this simply means more time for errands and chores--but since I was also able to squeeze in a NAP, it's all good!)

So all that's left to say is: "Is it time for another couple of days off, yet?" Because I suspect it's gonna feel like a looooong week...but here we go!

Valentine's Day...untraditionally...

I'm sure for many people (although I'm not actually sure if I know any of them) Valentine's Day is all about romance, wine, roses...and whatnot. It might have been that way around here, back when Team WestEnders consisted of just Husband and me--honestly that time is so far in the past, it's pretty murky, so I'm not sure--but it certainly is NOT the case these days.

Now, don't get me wrong, we haven't given up and spurned the whole sugar-driven holiday in its entirety. For example, we still try to find cards--for everyone in the family. But let me tell ya, the selection of stuff offered by Hallmark and the like seems to me to include only three genres: the cringe-worthy risque...the groan-inducing...and the nauseatingly sappy. Since I shuddered at most of the inappropriately racy ones...and I simply don't DO drippy...that left me with only one option...buy horribly punny tokens of my affection for all of my boys. (Even with this having been decided, I still had to stand in front of the display for a good--or painful, depending on how you look at it--20 minutes before finally selecting what I considered the "least awful". Nice sentiment for a Day of Love, yeah? Thanks so much, greeting card companies...)

Oh well, I shouldn't have worried, because apparently the guys ran into the same issue, as demonstrated by the one Derek and Riley chose for me (above and at right). Ay yi yi, am I right?

Anyway, the other--frankly much more important, if you ask me--element of honoring your sweethearts is of course the giving and receiving of...CHOCOLATE. Or, in Husband's case, Good & Plenties, since the man just has an inexplicable, weird preference for the the wax-coated licorice over the good stuff. Eh, more creamy cocoa deliciousness for ME, I always say...except this year he sheepishly confessed that, with all the things I'm avoiding in my diet, he wasn't sure what I could actually have, so he didn't risk buying something I couldn't eat. Siiiighhh...guess I'm responsible for my own fix this year. (However, he has been duly instructed that both Whole Foods and Weaver Street Market carry an organic, 70% dark chocolate bar that is free of bad stuff, so in the future he won't run into this problem again--no excuses!)

As for the kids, I strolled the candy aisle at Target to forage for treats. They're both old enough to have officially grown out of the "cutesy stuffed animals holding sweets" phase, yet when I spotted an adorable frog-shaped tin filled with goodies, I couldn't resist. You see, Riley has always loved frogs, and is juuuust sentimental enough to enjoy the fact that he can keep the container afterwards and fill it with--I don't know, school supplies or something practical. That's how I rationalized it, anyway, and as it turns out, I was right, because he must have thanked me 5 separate times and told me how much he liked it. (Win!)

Derek's reaction, on the other hand, was equally as priceless...in a verrry different way. Upon seeing Riley's gift, he mock-indignantly exclaimed, "Hey! How come MY chocolate didn't come packed in the shape of MY favorite animal?" Um...let's see...perhaps it's due to the fact that I don't have a clue what that might be? Or that you even had a preferred creature? Oh, or possibly because you're almost 17 and I know you couldn't care less? (Yeah, that's the one...) But since he'd piqued my curiosity, I asked to which member of the wild kingdom he was referring. "Grizzly bear," he stated emphatically, and then hastened to add, "but I'm talking about the kind that stands in the middle of the stream and catches salmon with its paws!" (Ha! As if I would think he meant any other type...puh-leez...)

And--knowing my son as I do--I totally get why he identifies with...a fuzzy carnivore. However, I also had to break it to him gently that the only kind of...ursine representation...he was gonna get in the "hearts and flowers" section of the store was the grizzly's FAR less fierce cousin..."Ted E. Bear". He nodded thoughtfully and accepted this with good grace, appreciating the sports-themed array I'd picked out just for him.

Then when I finally got around to opening my cards from Husband at dinner time, he was quite pleased with himself over this one:

Granted, it falls in that "silly-cute" category, so it was definitely what I expect from him...and also suspiciously familiar...since (and I almost hated to break this to him)...one of us has bought this exact same card before. Far from being chagrined, though, he brightly enthused, "See? I knew it was a good one!"

But Derek had the final zinger of Valentine's Day 2016, as he piped up in a droll tone, "Isn't that what marriage IS? Recycling old crap all the time and pretending it's new again?" Excuse me for a moment ...mwahahahahahahaha! Well spoken, grasshopper. (And also Memo to Me: lecture that attitude right on out of him before he tries to date..) Now I'll have to be going....to hunt down some chocolate I can devour !

Stuff...and nonsense!

After the recent bout of...water-related shenanigans...Team WestEnders enjoyed a relatively quiet, business-as-usual work and school week. In fact, the only truly notable topic, believe it or not, was: the weather. You see, this is our third Winter in Chapel Hill, and to be honest--even though it's definitely still my least-favorite season--there's really been nothing to complain about, in my opinion. The pattern we've observed so far has been that it tends to get frosty overnight, but then the mercury rises to around 50 during the day. This is punctuated by mercifully brief spells of frigidity, sometimes with a snow and/or ice storm mixed in, just to shake things up a bit and keep it fresh (or whatever). In a nutshell: all perfectly deal-able, yeah?

So up to this point I had never understood why people kept ruefully describing the last few Winters as "unusually cold" (often delivered with an violent shiver, for emphasis) when I, personally, felt like conditions in the Great Outdoors had been just dandy, thankyouverymuch. But now...I think I finally GET it. This year, outside of one white, flaky interlude, we've been gifted with mild temperatures that, at times, teetered into the territory of "downright balmy".

What're we actually talking about, here? Multiple 60-and-70 degree days, causing crazy sights such as...folks jogging and biking in shorts...ladies sporting flip-flops...and me, showing up at Riley's soccer game in just a sweatshirt and windpants, rather than multiple layers of fleece, a coat and gloves. All I can say is, if this is what December, January, and February are supposed to be like, I'm not going to go as far as to become a FAN, per se, but let's just say I'm likely to be much more kindly disposed toward Old Man Winter in the future.

Okay, speaking of soccer, I'll tackle (ha!) that next. In the Fall, still rehabbing from the broken tibia, Riley played off the bench, and probably averaged about half of each game on the field. Last weekend in the tournament--which represented his team's first action of the Spring campaign--it appeared from the sidelines as though he'd returned to full strength and speed...which was a very nice thing to observe. His coach must have agreed, since he started Riley at center back today, and left him in for all 70 minutes (more on that in a second).

The match itself was a nail-biter throughout the first half...then rapidly degenerated into frustrated, overly-aggressive, out-of-control physical behavior by the opposing squad (pushing, grabbing, tripping...oh, and "mouthing off"--you get the picture. It was generally unsportsmanlike garbage...a certain amount of which you can normally get away with, to be sure,...especially if it's not caught...but these antics went just a WEE bit over the line, if you will...).

On the one hand, this was kind of nerve-wracking to watch, as a parent...but I'm not gonna lie, it also provided some cheap thrills, resulting as it did in 4 penalty cards being issued--3 yellow and 1 red (which means that player is ejected)...more than I've ever seen happen in one contest, in all the years the boys have been participating in the Beautiful Game. The skirmish eventually ended in a 0-0 draw--not tremendously satisfying, but given the possible alternatives, could have definitely been much worse. Far more rewarding for our family: coach named Riley the MVP for the day, based on his contributions on the pitch. (Yaaayyy, buddy! That's my baby...sniffle...)

And while we're on the subject of my youngest child, who's suddenly growing up--literally AND figuratively--entirely too fast, I can also report that he just reached another milestone in his young life. Ready for this? He's decided it's time...to begin shaving. (I KNOW, right? Ay yi yi...) Don't get me wrong, it's not like we haven't seen this coming. I mean, the kid's had a visible mustache going on for a while now--all the more noticeable because of his dark hair--and recently added some sideburns to the picture.

Therefore I'd been asking him on a regular basis whether he wanted to start the face-scraping routine, but his answer continued to be "No, it's not bothering me yet." Then I came home from an errand today to find out from Derek that Husband had driven Riley to Target...to pick up an electric razor. WELL! I guess it suddenly became annoying and had to be addressed immediately. (Which is soooo characteristically Riley...I can't imagine where he gets that impatience and impulsiveness from...Shhhh! No comments from the Peanut Gallery! Oh, and also: Awww! How cute with the Father/Son...bonding over personal grooming...and whatnot...)

Now I suppose there will be some kind of tutorial demonstration to instruct the young grasshopper in the proper wielding of the stubble-removing device--which has absolutely nothing to do with me, and which I will thus take great pains to avoid, like the...Male Plague. (Hmm....perhaps I'll hide somewhere in the house with a cup of tea and a magazine, and claim I'm doing "super-secret girly things". That usually succeeds in scaring the Y-chromosome crowd away so I get some cherished Me-Time...snicker...)

And with that, we're brought up-to-date on all Team WestEnders happenings. Riiiight...until tomorrow, when the daytime high might reach 75...and it's Husband's turn to chauffeur Riley to yet another soccer event...and I'm running a 5K in Raleigh...and, who knows, there might be...shaving lessons. Maybe I should go prepare my "retreat setup" now, just in case! Ta ta!