And the Nomination Goes to...

This little nugget started out as a Facebook post, but when I went past three paragraphs, I decided that this was a better venue for my ramblings, and also less likely to get my blood pressure elevated as I was forced to deal with comments from the masses.  We all know I can't ignore things very well, so I'm much better off this way.  The root of it is that I'm not trying to get into a political argument with anyone today, but I AM marking the moment in time for my son, in the hopes that he doesn't have to rely solely on his fading memories in later years, as I do.


You see, he watched the DNC with me all week (the RNC last week, too, because we believe in being well-informed and listening to all sides, and checking facts, even when we don't agree with the opinion), and he stayed up with me last night as well.

He humored me while I told him that someday he will be able to tell his kids that he remembers seeing our first black President speak on the soccer field at JMU after freezing to death for hours and then being disappointed when we didn't get into the official speech in the Convo.

Barack Obama at JMU October 28, 2008

He also humored me while I told him to look around and remember what was happening while Hillary made her acceptance speech as the first female presidential nominee--his father asleep and snoring in the chair, the "porch kitties" chasing moths attracted to the light shining through the window behind the couch, and his sentimental old mom, who was moved to tears and applause, first by Mr. Khizr Khan, then by Hillary's speech.  Don't jump to conclusions, this isn't about Hillary, per se, but because it's been too long in the making.  The fact that I even have to celebrate the nomination of a woman as groundbreaking in 2016 should be cause for dismay.

Save your political comments of disgust or whatever...this isn't about whom I've voted for, or for whom I intend to vote.  This is about moments in history, and I want to make sure he can say, "I remember when..."

One Small Step

My dad recently gifted my son with an old jon boat--nothing fancy-- gunmetal grey with oars that clamp on the edge, motor-worthy when he's old enough, but for now, just muscle power to putter around in the cove.  Andrew was ecstatic and couldn't wait to be afloat in his brand-new vessel for the first time yesterday.

Once there, however, he was scared.  The boat felt unstable to him. It rocked and tilted as the small swells drifted into our cove from the main channel.  The novelty wore off quickly.  He realized it was hard work, and in the hot sun, he quickly wished he were bobbing in the cool water himself.  But he couldn't get out--there was no one to help him out at the dock.  Everyone was either in the water or otherwise occupied, so I suggested to him that he just jump in from the jon boat.

To your average almost ten year-old, maybe that would have solved the problem, but Andrew froze, uncertain of his balance already and unable to take the leap, small though it was.  So there he sat, one leg swung over the side of the boat, one leg firmly inside, while the rest of us grew more and more frustrated over his inability to stop thinking about it and just jump.

It was clear that the idea of what could happen was worse than what actually would happen.  His fear, insecurity, and lack of confidence in himself paralyzed him, even though he knew logically that he was inches from the surface with a life jacket on and capable adults by his side.  The more he thought, though, the harder it became, and he went nowhere.

Today, as we took the pontoon out for a brief excursion, we headed to the marina to fuel up.  Normally, we have a full boat and someone is at the ready to hop off and "catch" the boat and tie us off.  But with just the three of us, the options were few.  I'm not the steadiest on my feet sometimes.  I can trip and fall over nothing, and with a tricky hip that isn't always reliable, I don't tend to put myself into physically precarious positions.  Today, however, without thinking, I stepped agilely off of the still-moving boat and onto the gas dock, nimbly skirting pilings and line as well as the widening expanse of water between the bow of the boat and the slightly higher dock.  And without a thought, until afterwards, when I realized with amazement what I had done.  I know, I know...it's not bungee jumping or skydiving, but trust me when I say that it was a big deal for me.

Different situations, but equally challenging in their own way.  Why was mine easier?  Because I just DID.  No thought, just action, while he was locked in a position of neither forward nor backward, looking for a solution that wasn't there.  I know the panic he felt trying to get out of the boat.  The situation was wobbly and uncertain, and he was terrified of someone letting him down and of the idea of getting hurt.  He did eventually succumb to the pressure and slid off effortlessly into the water. And the look of surprise on his face when nothing bad happened was exactly what I felt when I hopped onto the dock like it was my job.

I've done a lot of changing and growing in that past two years, all of it for the better. I"m a stronger, more confident person in a lot of ways, and I prove to myself on a daily basis that I can handle whatever life throws at me, even if it doesn't feel like it at the time.  He thought too much, I didn't think at all, and we both made it through.  He was embarrassed though, and showed his ass a little as he was panicking, and I can relate to that as well. The desperation of trying to hold on to something you've placed your trust in as it slips away is strong, and people do and say dumb things when they're scared and lost, me included.  The lesson here?  Turn off your brain, trust yourself first, and just let go.

Wednesday Whatevers

Because I feel slightly guilty at wishing for (and receiving) another snow day, when the rest of the world apparently wants to get back to business as usual,  and because I still feel like absolute hell and can't clean my house, which is soon-to-be-condemned, and because my brain is going to turn to mush if I just continue to stream episode after episode of "Justified", I thought I'd at least attempt to write the world's longest sentence a little post.  But the problem is that I've only been out of the house for twenty total hours in the last ten days, and nothing's really happening.  So, whatever!


An old friend found this picture of my mom and me the other day and shared it with me on Facebook.  I'm fascinated with it!  I've been thinking about (and writing about, some) this time period in my life quite a bit lately, so the timing was rather odd.  I'm about Andrew's age in the picture, I think, based on the hair and the glasses.  But what I can't get over is my mom in this picture!  She was going through one of the toughest times in her own life when this picture was taken, but she doesn't show it.  She's sassy--look at those hands on her hips--is it any wonder I stand that way a lot?  And she's smiling, put together, and gorgeous!  I don't tell her enough, but she has always impressed me with her strength and her stoicism and her ability to just do what needs to be done, regardless of her own needs or pain.  She did that for us as kids, and she continues to do so now, for all of us.  I've got a pretty kick-ass mom, and I hope I can do half as well.


My least favorite commercials right now are public service announcements discouraging the use of the word "gay" as derogatory comment.  The commercials are killing me slowly.  They aren't new, which I guess is why they're running during Scooby Doo and Tom and Jerry.  Don't confuse my disgust with the medium as disgust with the message, because that's certainly not the case.  My problem is that they run ad nauseum (no pun intended) on the Cartoon Network and some others of the boy's favorite networks.  He's eight, so Tom and Jerry is certainly appropriate fare, and God knows he hears my potty mouth enough, so that's not really the point either.  What he HAS never heard is the word "gay" used as a pejorative, so the context of Hillary Duff explaining why it was bad was completely lost on him.  We had to have one of THOSE discussions to make sure he knew what the word really meant, why it wasn't a bad thing in any context, and who some of our nearest and dearest gay people are, because he'd never given it a second thought.  He remembered that the biography of JFK that he was reading used the word in a different context, and we talked about that.  All in all, a very teachable moment, so what's the problem?  He now hears, "That's so gay," over and over in the course of the day, when he had never heard it before.  Does that defeat the purpose?  I'm wondering.  The most ridiculous thing about the commercials is that they all feature GIRLS using the word, and female role models pointing out why it's bad.  Hello, Ad Council!  Girls aren't the ones using the word that way; it's the boys!  How about the commercial with Victor Cruz talking to the teenage boys about throwing that word around?  It doesn't exist, and it should, because that's where the problem is.  Okay, rant over.  Until the next time the commercial airs.

I like having discussions with people.  I even like having arguments with people, sometimes, if they're respectful.  The thing is, those people have to be smart people.  They don't have to agree with  me--it's better if they don't.  The point of talking to people is to learn things, and I like to have things to talk about, even if the subject is one that pushes people's buttons or stretches their comfort zone, mine included!  I like to know what makes people tick.  Enough said.  Smart people, engage me. Teach me, expand my horizons.

Does it make me selfish that I'm delighting in the fact that not only is today another day for me to fight off this plague, but that the boy's karate class is also cancelled because the schools are closed?  I know, I know…I'm a terrible mom.  But, see…tonight was supposed to be a belt test, and those make me very nervous.  In my weakened and frail state, I'm not sure I could have handled the stress.  The class being canceled gives the kid another week to practice, to go over his form, and for me to feel more confident that he'll get that purple belt I've been dying to see.  (Orange is my least favorite color, sorry.)  By next week, hopefully I will be feeling better and up to the strain and the stress.  (Oh yeah, and one other thing…JMU Men's Basketball plays at Northeastern tonight, so instead of following the game on Twitter, I'll get to watch the video stream.  But that's totally irrelevant!)

I need to read a book.  I have stacks of them waiting, and one I'm in the middle of on my Nook.  But I can't do that until I've caught up on every single season of every single television series that I've missed over the past three years.  I have this Amazon Prime account that I need to milk for all its worth, for one thing, so I'm streaming away, but I've missed a lot of great things somehow!  First it was two seasons of American Horror Story, then it was on to Downton Abbey.  Once I caught up on those, it was on to Justified (I'm hooked), which I just might finish today, if I'm lucky.  I need to watch Lost, or so I've been told, and I'm sure there are many others I should check out.  Leave me some recommendations in the comments section, peeps.  And it's just a matter of a few days now before The Walking Dead returns.  I just might survive the winter!  I can always read this summer, right?

Speaking of Justified, Timothy Olyphant, the actor who plays Raylan Givens, also starred in one of my former favorite shows, Deadwood.  Which, daggone it, I now think I have to go back and watch again. Good thing he's easy on the eyes.

Wednesday Whatevers

I don't have the energy for this.  I'm sort of forcing it, so when it sucks, you'll know why.
But here's what's happening, in all its randomness.

I turned 42.  And lived to tell about it.  No end of the world or anything, which I really wasn't expecting anyway.  It was actually a pretty stinkin' good birthday.  People who were supposed to remember the day actually did...a few that I didn't expect to surprised me with greetings and salutations, and it was just NICE.  And throughout the course of the celebratory weekend, these notable things occurred:

My dad prepared a lovely dinner for the family on Thursday night.
Family from out of town visited unexpectedly, "forcing" us to stay out 'til the wee hours of the morning visiting with them.
We had a very pleasant, although unplanned, Friday evening with good friends.
We spent the day Saturday with family again, enjoying good food and drinks and fun.
We painted the town red...or at least muted shades of mauve and rose...on Saturday night, again with great friends and good music.
We spent Sunday with yet more family.
The overall theme was friends and family--that's what it's all about, after all.
I get tired again just reading about all of the activity.  Right now, hibernating sounds pretty good.

It was also during the weekend that Andrew wrecked a motorized vehicle for the first time when he drove a mini-dirt bike through a rail fence, breaking two of the rails and narrowly escaping a nasty run-in with the barbed wire fence strung on the other side.  Whew, I'm glad I didn't see it!  What I am grateful for, in addition to the fact that he wasn't injured (other than a scrape on his chin) was that he walked away with a healthy fear of speed and a lesson in listening carefully.  And while I wondered THEN where my little boy went, I wondered even more when he came home from school today talking about wanting a leather jacket, one of those leather clips for his pocketknife, and leather pants, complete with "one of those chains you can hook to your pants." Apparently, I'm raising a motorcycle hood.  Fonzi would be proud.

I have a long list of work grumbles that I won't bore the public with.  Middle school drama isn't strictly for the kids, apparently.  But aside from that, I am feeling a great deal of stress professionally.  Okay, maybe I will bore you a bit...without being specific, let me just express the fact that IN GENERAL, it's difficult to go through life always being told what you're doing wrong or what you're not doing and should be.  We could probably all benefit from that lesson for our own workplaces and homes.  I just don't think that constantly pointing out where failures occurred is productive, healthy, or even ethical.  Everyone needs positive, consistent, and fair feedback.  Without specifics, and without even acknowledging that I'm talking about myself here, I would like to say that you just can't keep piling things on to someone's "plate" without expecting that plate to overflow.  It's a little discouraging for the focus to always be on the carrot that fell in the floor, instead of on all of the other things that teachers do well.  We, and the many great things we do during the course of a day...or week...or year...are taken for granted, from the bottom rungs of the hierarchy to the top.  While I don't look for sympathy for doing a job that I love, (and doing a damn good job of it, I might add), I do look for...I don't know.  Understanding? I also don't look for someone or something to trip me while I'm carrying the plate, just to see if I can hold on.  Uggh, rant over.

On a positive note, I love getting coupons from restaurants.  Good job, Byers Street Bistro and Sauced, for sending me $10.00 off birthday presents.   You're damn skippy I'll use them, and spend all the more money for saving a little.  And FYI, marketing people who care about this stuff, the actual postcard in the mail is SO much more effective for this girl than an email sitting in my inbox.  I might use the others too, but I'm more likely to use the one that's cluttering up my kitchen counter!  And when you say "any purchase," you do mean beer, right?  'Cause that's what I'm buying!

Another positive note to end on?  Wednesday dinners are also "whatevers."  It's my Grump Day Hump Day Karate Night Strategy for Survival...so bring on the leftover chili, Mr. Microwave.

Bison Breath and Giraffe Souls

It's a really rare occasion that I'm able to participate in Andrew's school functions. The headache of getting a substitute, making lesson plans, and trying to conserve the coveted "personal" days all play into the fact that it's usually just easier for the hubby to go on field trips or volunteer for things that are during the school day.  Any teacher will tell you, too, that field trips on our end aren't always fun, so I carry that with me as well.  But when this opportunity came up, I grabbed it, and I'm so very glad that I did.

One of the coolest parts of my day had nothing to do with the trip.  I really have enjoyed the few times I've been able to see the boy in his classroom environment.  It's reassuring to see him be so self-assured, so appropriate, and lately, so damn grown up!  So, I was already a little choked up just watching him do his thing.  But when the morning announcements came on, and I heard the echoing voices of every kid in that wing reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, I actually had to step into the hallway to wipe a tear from my face and try to keep my composure and not look crazy. I made it through without a complete meltdown, though, and soon, we were off on our voyage.

Parent chaperones had to drive separately, and I confess that I might have enjoyed the solitude of the 40-minute drive just a little bit.  Oh hell, I loved it!  A beautiful morning, coffee in abundance, and "harmonizing" my ass off with the radio and my favorite Bryan Elijah Smith CD...well, that's a great way to start a day!  

The Virginia Safari Park in Natural Bridge is another one of the very cool treasures we have near us that we rarely think about taking advantage of.  We hadn't been there since Andrew was about eleven months old, so I was very excited.  Acres and acres of exotic creatures running "wild," and us in an open wagon!  Too cool!

We had a fantastic day.  The weather was gorgeous, the kids (and parents) were all really well-behaved and knowledgeable and respectful of the animals they were seeing. Even in the excitement of bucket-eating camels and slobbery, foul-breathed bison, the kids handled it all well.  At times, one could almost be convinced that we were on the savannahs of Africa, and not just a mile from the interstate.  It was impressive.

My personal highlight, other than hanging with my kid?  The giraffes!  I love, love, love giraffes!  From a distance, they were awe-inspiring.  From up close, in the feeding station, just beautiful, and graceful, and so strange-looking.  They have the most beautiful dark eyes that I would challenge anyone to look into and tell me that animals don't have souls.  I wanted to cry again having a moment with this guy right here, and I wanted to hug his neck and rub his mane.  I had to settle for feeding him from my hand, but I could have done that for hours, if I had had more quarters.

At the end of the day, we were all hot, sweaty, and exhausted, and I wondered if I'd be able to walk back up the hill to my car.  We made a last stop at the gift shop, where my son reminded me he is still a little boy by buying a stuffed snake and giraffe (okay, that's mine...I confess). We loaded the kids on the bus, and headed home.  It was a great, great day.

Bloody Mary and the Pepper Jack Pigs

I can muster some excitement about college football season starting right now because it's very, very fresh.  I've said before, I like the idea of going to football games, and I certainly support our Dukes, but the luster quickly wears off and I become bored.  For now, though, the season just started, and the novelty is still there.  Enjoy it while it lasts.

We made a last-minute, agonizing decision to stay home from the lake yesterday so we could attend the home opener at JMU.  It had been quite the dilemma, so I was happy to just have a decision made.  We packed up the tailgating supplies, somehow managed to find purple to wear, and headed to the 'burg for the fun and frivolity.

Tailgating is my favorite sport.  Sitting around with a drink in my hand hanging with my favorite peeps is just good fun, and I LIKE that the toughest decision I have to make when tailgating is what to drink!  I'm not big on tailgating games, though...Corn-hole doesn't keep my attention, ladder golf has always scared me, with good reason, and running around throwing a football?  Well, let's just leave that to the boys, because I don't want to get sweaty.  But, I may have found a game I can get behind...KanJam!  Two "trash cans" and a Frisbee--who invents these things?  It's  fun...but you have to stay alert, or you'll take a Frisbee to the face.  Trust me on that.

Several Bloody Marys and Pepper Jack Pigs in Blankets later, it was game time, and the masses headed into the stadium.  Andrew was impressed enough by his run-in with Duke Dog, who had a new scepter with him, to make this Sharpie sketch during the game. 

Football games are as much about the pre-game and the marching band for me as they are about football.  I get giddy with emotion during the "America the Beautiful" and "The Star-Spangled Banner", and the sound of the drum line reverberating off the sides of the stadium gives me the chills.  My personal high point of the game?  Hearing the MRD's ROCK "Start Wearing Purple."  Most of the football crowd wasn't sure what to think, but they will..."it's just a matter of time!"

The game was great, the Dukes won easily, and it turned out that the golf cart parade at the lake was rained out anyway, so good calls all around.  To sum up, it was a day in which these things happened:

I discovered a new recipe.

My purples didn't match.

Andrew got a job.

I took a Frisbee to the face.

The boy ripped his pants, not once, but twice.  (Darn tailgates!)

A shot-gunning contest was lost.

I did not fall down.

We paid more to park than we did for tickets.

We did not take a shuttle bus.

Leigh Ann and Kristi became Hokie widows.

Tootsie Roll Pops made me cry, and I missed Bev, terribly.

Big Time Experience

The boy turns eight in a couple of weeks, and as an early present, we decided, sort of last minute, to get tickets to see Big Time Rush with Victoria Justice.  If you have kids under the age of 15, you probably know who they are.  If you don't, you probably aren't missing anything. (Although I confess to enjoying the bubble gum tunes of BTR myself, and acknowledging the swoon factor of the guys in the group, even if they are technically young enough to be my sons.  Ugh.)

Just as we bought the tickets, though, Andrew came down with a random case of strep throat.  I mean, why not?  Even after spending a gajillion dollars on tickets, fees, taxes, and surcharges, there was some doubt about making the trip.  None of us were sure that a three hour one way trip, untold walking and crowds, and the rigor of the show itself, would go well under the circumstances...fever, nausea, occasional vomiting, etc., but I was hoping that he'd have had enough meds by that point to start feeling better.  We quickly nixed the idea of staying over, and of trying to add other attractions like the Aquarium, both for cost and time reasons.  I was glad of both, even when we got home at 3:30 the next morning.

I'm not a fan of getting into big cities.  The traffic wigs me out, I panic on highway bridges that are curvy and high in the air...so that deters me somewhat from going to Baltimore more frequently. But I like the Inner Harbor, a lot.  I need to remind myself of that and go back soon.  

Pier 6 Pavilion is a great place to see a show.  There's not a bad seat in the place, the breeze from the water is lovely,  and you can't beat the scenery.  Nothing will ever, ever beat seeing Rick Springfield there, but any moderately entertaining group would be worth it.

Overall, the trip was great, if quick.  Andrew held it together, and while he wasn't the party animal he might have been under normal circumstances, he enjoyed himself.  As always, though, I have some random thoughts about the experience to share.

•$30.00 to park a car for a couple of hours is ridiculous.  For that much, they should wash the car and clean out the McDonald's trash from the trip.

•Buy t-shirts from the shady guy in the parking lot instead of from inside the venue.  And haggle with him!  I don't care what truck they fell off of, or if there's a spelling error I haven't seen yet, $15.00 is waaaaay better than $35.00, and that guy needs the money more than Kendall and Carlos do.  

•I'm a purse-stuffing pro.  I realize that this means I'm well-prepared to be the old lady wrapping rolls up and putting them in her purse, but I can live with it.  Here's the trick:  small bags of Goldfish, or little cookies, and some Capri Suns in the bottom of the bag, and placed carefully under brightly wrapped feminine hygiene products...then find a line with a male security guy.  Works every time.  They won't dig, I promise you.  And they're lucky I wasn't there with nefarious plans, because I also had multiple pill bottles full of such hard-core OTC drugs as chewable kids' Tylenol and Pepto-Bismol.  They easily could have been quaaludes! (I just aged myself again, I am aware.)

•Be prepared to move away from THIS to salvage your concert experience.

And ladies, if you should ever be inclined to wear this, please make sure that a) your belly isn't as big as your butt b) it's long enough that you won't give a decidedly unwelcome peep show to my husband and kid, and c) that you keep your ass on the ground with all of the other adults instead of standing on a chair with your makeup-wearing seven year-old who will likely bless you with a grandbaby in about seven years.   

This view was better, in spite of the trash can, and Andrew could actually see something other than...well, what he could see before.

•I found it odd that Victoria Justice would  spend fair amounts of her set preaching about opportunities for girls and setting sights high, then cover that "I crashed my car into a bridge, I put your sh*t into a bag, I don't care!" song.  It disturbed me to hear thousands of preteen kids singing along with it, and we wonder WHY we have issues in our society?  

•Nobody, and I mean, NOBODY else but yours truly could get trampled by Carlos Pena (of BTR) and not realize it until afterward.  I was so focused on trying to get this picture that I didn't see all of the band members leave the stage, and thus, was nearly knocked down by a large, burly man leading the way as Carlos made his way around the pavilion.  At least Andrew will have a story to tell!

Overall, great experience for Andrew, and on the heels of him receiving a response from his very first fan letter earlier in the week, hopefully something he will remember.  And while it's a "boy band" enjoying fifteen minutes of manufactured fame and not "real" music, they're good role models, and I'll encourage that as long as I can.  Thanks, BTR, and especially Kendall!  Not Carlos, though, because if you're going to knock me down, you should at least realize it.

Wednesday Whatevers

Okay, I got cocky when this was too easy the first time, and it disappeared.  However this turns out, please know that it was better the first time.

I am ecstatic to be posting this from my brand-new shiny iPhone, not because I have to, because I'm sitting here at home, but because I CAN.  So far, this phone has been perfectly wonderful.  I was sad to give my old one up, but this one continues to make me so happy, the momentary sentimental feeling of loss just vanished.  

Speaking of the shiny new toy, which suddenly seems as though it needs a name, like a car, one of my tasks today is to try to reconcile an old, unused iTunes account with the new one I had to create when I couldn't remember the old info.  I'm giddy with anticipation of getting all my music into my phone, and even at the idea of ditching my reliance on Pandora, fickle bitch that she is.  Rap on my Rick  Springfield station, indeed!

I'm a little over midway through summer break, and the inevitable blues have kicked in.  I'm not accomplishing much, other than writing bad poetry and reading good books, but that's a dead horse I'm not going to beat.  Read posts from other summers, change the dates, and you'll get it.  I hate the structure of the school year, or any structure for that matter, but I really don't function very well without it.  

I am inadvertently raising frogs this summer, and that's one thing that, surprisingly, I am enjoying the hell out of. I have no doubt that they're going to turn into big, ugly bullfrogs, but for now, they are adorable.  And like a kid, in fact, MORE than MY kid, I am fascinated by the daily growth of their little tadpole legs and by watching the ones that have "turned" gobble down their crickets.  I was more than a little upset the other night at the thought that the "oldest" frog had eaten his little brother, but it turns out that the little guy just hides really well.  It's a challenge to get a few crickets into the vivarium (yes, I learned a new word) without them jumping away or the frogs hopping out the door, and it's probably really just a matter of time and one good leap before the inevitable happens.

Andrew is suddenly this big kid, and it was never more obvious than the other day when he fell into the lake from our dock, fishing poles, tackle boxes, and all.  He was startled, but didn't cry as the younger Andrew would have, and even though I wanted to.  I look at this kid's feet and am amazed that they were once tiny enough to fit into my hand.  Thankfully, there are moments like these when he is still a little boy, and I treasure them.  Time flies, enjoy it.

Also on the topic of time flying, one of these days, I'll write a great story or book based on one of my oldest friendships.  This friendship has seen marriages, divorces, turmoil, the birth of children, tragedies, and many other life events, all without ever being awkward, judgmental, or uncomfortable, even after lapses in contact or changed status.  It's one I treasure and rely on, especially in rough times, which is all the more significant considering it started online, back in the early days of the Internet.  And other than an afternoon spent together having lunch in a Pizza Hut, one conducted entirely over "long" distance.  Quite a feat, and one that my friend and I even think is quite amazing.  I am thankful, Kevin, for the two decades (holy hell!) of honesty, trust, "shoulders" to cry on, humor, and the ability to say and talk about anything. 

Once again, the menagerie has been fed, too much coffee has been consumed, and the boy, in full Harry Potter costume, is entranced in The Deathly Hallows. It's Wednesday, and my eyes are on the weekend already.  Happy Hump Day, everyone.  Where's that commercial camel when I need him?

Kings Dominion (Where's the Apostrophe?)

So, I've become a wuss in my old age.  I mean, we all suspected it, right?  But there's no better way to PROVE it than a visit to an amusement park.  It really didn't hit me at Disney World several summers ago, but so many of the activities there are kid-oriented that I probably just fit right in.  Yesterday, however, the hubby and I made our first visit to Kings Dominion in 21 years (holy crap, we're old), and took Andrew for the very first time.  And boy, was my wuss-dom ever obvious there! 

We all started the day with smiles on our faces.  The weather was beautiful, the park was immaculate and shiny, and the smell of funnel cake and cotton candy was so thick in places that we really didn't need to buy any--we could taste it!  (And at almost 10 bucks a pop for funnel cake, I wasn't buying any anyway!)  I was, as always, a little nostalgic for the old days of Kings Dominion, before the awe-inspiring, loop-dee-loops coasters that are now ubiquitous; back in the day of the Scooby Doo Roller Coaster (redubbed The Woodstock Express to fit the Planet Snoopy theme in the kids' section) and the Land of the

Dooz in the artificial mountain.  I'm so old, I can actually remember when there was a lake (now partially filled in) with a water-skiing show--I vividly remember the Hatfields and the McCoys feuding it out on waterskis in the hillbilly attire of cutoffs and plaid.  I also mourned the loss of the safari monorail...those train cars used to be the best way to get cooled off as they trekked us around the park to look at lions and antelope.  (Perfectly natural in a Richmond suburb, yeah?)  Also gone are the cable cars that crossed the park...but there are still plenty of the "old" attractions combined with the new that I didn't feel the loss too much, the Eiffel Tower being one of them. 

After much protesting because he was too old/too cool, we managed to coax Andrew into the Planet Snoopy area to start the day, and it actually became a big hit.  He managed to sucker me onto a tame little "hot air balloon" ride that damn near made me throw up...I actually cried a little bit, I was so scared.  It didn't help that Andrew used the spin control with abandon until I told him that I was really close to puking...I survived, but it didn't bode well for the rest of the day.  A snafu in line for the Woodstock Express (also calm/designed for YOUNG kids, mind you) left me riding with Andrew and screaming in terror as Andrew watched with amusement.  I left that ride with shaky legs and pounding heart, wondering what the hell happened to the fearless girl I used to be. 

Heading out around the rest of the park, I had the inevitable flashback to the Brady Bunch episode where the kids lost Mike's blueprints on a ride.  That also ages me significantly, I realize...but at one point, watching a girl run to catch up with her family, I could swear it was Marcia Brady running with the poster tube across the park.  (That was, of course, Kings Island, NOT Kings Dominion, but when I was a kid, I thought it was really impressive that I recognized so many of the park features.)  Writing this, though, I realize that other than the log flume and the White Water Canyon, I didn't ride anything else the entire day.  Good thing the boy got his money worth and is still brave enough for the Rebel Yell (which I used to LOVE!), the Grizzly, and the huge ferris wheel (and that his father was willing to ride with him). 

At the end of the day, though it was the kids' area, Planet Snoopy, that drew Andrew back, and we spent the last several hours there as he rode and re-rode things that were just his size.  I could see that he enjoyed being able to be independent in the short lines and riding things as many times as he wanted, and with just enough fun and thrill that he wasn't scared to death.  Unlike his mom, that is. 

Notes to Self for the Next Trip: 

• Ugly, sturdy sandals are not kind to my feet.  Give me my flip-flops any day.
• Knowing that dinosaurs are robotic does not lesson one's hesitation to turn one's back to them (especially after seeing Jurassic Park recently).
• Pack at least one meal to avoid having to sell a kidney to buy lunch.  (We bought lunch, but had dinner packed in a cooler in the car.) Ignore the rule about bringing in snacks and pack some granola bars!
• Buy the refillable "souvenir" cup.  $10 seems like a lot at first, but when you can endlessly refill it, it's worth it, and way more preferable than $3.79 for a 20 oz. bottle!  It was a lifesaver!
• Rent or borrow a kid for the day to ride things you're too much of a chickenshit to ride with your only child. 
•  Your kid will be more impressed by driving the "Model T" cars around the wooded track than by anything else.  Save money, and let him drive the riding mower around the yard. 
• Figure out why there's no apostrophe used in "Kings Dominion."  (You know that drove me batshit crazy all day!)
• Steal some of the dog's Dramamine. 

Superstitious

Andrew's elementary school does an awards ceremony every grading period.  They present ribbons and certificates and whatnot to the kids who have earned the honor roll, perfect attendance, and the dubious honor of "most improved" in you-name-it.  It's a quick and efficient little ceremony that parents are invited are attend, and all of the kids in the specified grade levels go watch and cheer on their classmates.  It's nice, for those kids being honored, but it can be a blow to the self-esteem for those who don't get anything.  I know this from experience. 

Second grade has been up and down for Andrew.  As is true with a lot of kids for whom things come easily, he spent part of this year unmotivated and trying to squeak by with a bare minimum of effort.  I have to accept the blame for that gene, I think.  Just ask my high school teachers.  Even the seemingly easy "Perfect Attendance" award isn't easy to achieve during flu season, for anyone who occasionally misses the bus, or who might get picked up early for a family trip.  (That's a sub-topic on this post...see the last paragraph for more on "perfect" attendance.)  Combine unavoidable absences with a bump in the academic road, and you've got a little kid who gets nothing.  There were a few grading periods where he didn't receive any awards, which crushed him!

So, for this kid of mine, whom I do not want to see become a slacker, especially this early in his school career, it's important that we make a fuss and try to be reinforce the good stuff.  He's sensitive (also my gene), and he takes the good and the bad to heart pretty easily.  So I told him I'd try my best to be there today, in spite of the fact that we were playing student-faculty volleyball and it's crazy at my own school during this last week.  I'm very glad I made it, because not only did I see his face light up when he saw me sitting in the risers at the back of the gym, but I got to witness a ritual I would have missed otherwise. 

Andrew sat respectfully during the kindergarten and first grade awards, but as the second grade awards began to be announced, I noticed him becoming more fidgety and excited.  The first thing that caught my eye was that he was sitting on his feet, and while I thought maybe it was so he could see over all of the rows in front of him, I soon realized it was something different.  See, Andrew didn't know he was getting an award like all of the other students did.  Notes are supposed to be sent home a couple of days in advance so that parents can make arrangements to be there, but Andrew's teacher has been out on leave and didn't send them home.  So I was banking on him getting one, but we didn't know for sure.  All of the other students who were getting awards were waiting patiently for their names to be called, and while I'm sure they were excited, the element of surprise--that "Oscar" moment-- wasn't there. 

Anyway, I soon realized that my reformed slacker was actually trying to give himself luck...he was sitting on his feet because he had his legs crossed under him.  He had crossed the fingers on both hands for luck as well, and at points, also had his arms crossed and his hands in front of his face like he just couldn't stand the suspense.  He REALLY wanted that award!  Thankfully, he was not disappointed, and was awarded Honor Roll recognition once again.  But is he now going to think that all that appendage-twisting actually worked?  I hope so...because I think believing in luck is sort of like believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.  It's only going to be believable for a while, until he realizes that there's some a lot of stuff in life we have no control over.  (Never mind the fact that there are certain pieces of jewelry I won't wear to JMU basketball games because they're unlucky...that's a different story.)  And as long as he doesn't start thinking unwashed socks or eating certain foods before karate tournaments are "luck," I'll let him keep believing it. 

Subtopic Alert:  Andrew would have had Perfect Attendance this six-weeks, but he missed a day to go to our dear friend's funeral last week.  And while at first he said that he wanted to go to school, we talked about the RIGHT reasons to miss school and how this was one of the very best and most important reasons to miss...way more important than a Perfect Attendance award.  My THING, though, is that he could potentially have been picked up early or gone in late to attend...and still not gotten the award, even if he had been there.  I know, I know, the word perfect is like totally or completely.  There are no degrees of perfect.  But if missing a couple of hours of school to bid farewell to a loved one means imperfect attendance, so be it.  He made the right decision, but he shouldn't have had to.  I'd rather he have character, anyway. 

Whirlwind Weekend, and Stuff

I had grand plans for a Saturday Six-Pack yesterday, but as often as not, my plans go awry, and I didn't get an opportunity to get it done.  Six packs and Sundays don't mix, I've learned from experience (at least until summertime), so we'll head in a different direction... and I'm going to work backwards, because sometimes that's just how things need to be done.

Tonight was my night to read to the boy.  Yes, we take turns, and the only time I really object is when The Walking Dead or True Blood is on.  We have to do some finagling if Sunday happens to be my night, at least when zombies or vampires are involved.  Anyway, that's beside the point.  Tonight, midway through a Green Lantern book, I started thinking about a time in the not-so-distant future when Andrew will (maybe?) be too old/too cool to want his old mom lying on the bed with him reading to him.  We've read stories with him almost every single night since he came home from the hospital (hence his 7th grade reading level, braggy Mommy moment).  But he's not always going to want us to do that, I think...and I will miss it.  And damned if I'm not doing it again--mixing the sweet with the bitter, anticipating the bad as the good happens, time-traveling in my brain instead of living in the moment.  I just can't help it.  But even if I weren't thinking it before, the weekend's events got me thinking about how independent and self-assured this kid of mine is (I have no idea HOW, considering he's my offspring, but I guess it means I'm doing something right?) and how damn fast he has grown up. 

I was waiting in the car in the Target parking lot today while the boys ran in to buy a birthday present for Andrew's friend.  My current favorite CD was playing, and I was Parking Lot People-Watching (This is one of my favorite things to do, usually in the grocery store lot.) Anyway, in the eleven minutes we were there, two separate young mothers parked near us, one beside, one in front.  Both of them had young daughters sleeping in carseats in the back seats, and both went through the process of unbuckling and carrying the still-sleeping toddlers into the store.  It made me nostalgic for the many, many times we went through that with Andrew, and a time when he was small enough to carry.  He's not now, for sure...he fell asleep on the couch one night a few weeks ago, and I attempted to carry him up the steps to his room and nearly died in the process.  

How does this tie together?  Well, the whole weekend was full of poignant "Andrew is Growing Up" moments.  Friday night, we took him to see Iron Man 3 at the theater.  Don't get me wrong, it was a frigging fantastic movie, and Robert Downey, Jr. is H.O.T. hot.  But the movie was so action-packed, so "in your face," that I damn near had a panic attack.  My heart was pounding, I was cringing, I was actually STRESSED OUT by the stuff going on in some of the action sequences!  And there's my kid, my seven year-old kid, just as nonchalant about the whole thing as he could be, and looking at me like I was crazy because I was holding on for dear life and having an adrenaline rush like I was wearing the suit and fighting the bad guy.  So there's one. 

On Saturday, we attended a graduation party for a dear friend of the family who recently graduated from JMU.  It was a lovely, low-key affair, complete with picnic food and impromptu kickball games for the kids.  Andrew had never been to the Natural Chimneys and wanted to explore, of course...there are some really cool geologic features!  But Andrew discovered a steep hiking trail that went behind the (very high) chimneys, and dragged his dad up to check it out.  He asked the right one of us, knowing my fear of heights.  He also wanted desperately to go into a cave we found at the base of the chimneys, although he was fearful/smart enough to try to get us to go in first.  And later in the day, when I had had enough and was ready to come home, he very casually decided to stay and get a ride home with the friends, because he wasn't finished playing.  So, we left him there...in spite of my "Are they going to remember he's there with all those other kids?" and "Hope he doesn't decide to go spelunking or climbing..." thoughts.  I watched in the rear view mirror as we drove away, half expecting him to wig out at the last minute and flag us down.  But he was focused on kickball and didn't bat an eye.  He casually came home several hours later...exhausted and filthy, but fine.  There's another!

The piece de resistance, though, was today...a trip to the Massanutten Water Park to celebrate the birthday of one of Andrew's best buds.  I was a little hesitant for a few reasons--I wasn't anxious to put my pasty-white ass on display in a bathing suit, for one.  I had visions of throngs of screaming kids not being supervised and risking life and limb running on wet concrete.  And most of all, I wasn't sure how my kid--my kid who is very cautious around water, my kid who can only doggie paddle and won't put his face the water--was going to handle the whole thing.  We got him a life jacket at the beginning, against his protests, but it turned out to be unnecessary.  The only place he might have needed it was in the "lazy river," and even that was so well patrolled by life-guards that I felt like I was at Checkpoint Charlie.  But this kid of mine went immediately to the water slides...the four-story HIGH water slides, no less and just DID IT with no hesitation...and loved it so much that I couldn't get him back to the lazy river to save my life.  I died a little bit the one time I braved the tower to see Andrew heading into the biggest of the slides, the ones you can only do with no tube, and the ones that I had not yet seen the end of...I had no idea where he was headed! But it was fine...(And it turns out it was myself that I should have been worried about.  Unlike the kids and every other adult I saw sail flawlessly out of the slide on their tubes and remain above water, I shot out of the god-forsaken thing at a hundred miles an hour, screaming my face off, only to fly off of my tube and end up completely UNDER the water.  Thank God my top stayed on, but that was the only way it could have been worse.  It was fun, though, in a really, really scary kind of way.)  The crux of this portion of the story is that Andrew was, once again, fine without me for long stretches of time and in quite unusual situations. 

Suffice it to say that I'm having growing pains.  My baby has grown up in the blink of an eye, and I know it will be just another few short blinks before he's driving, graduating, going off to college... and my role will change from protector and provider to mentor and bystander.  But I'm going to keep reading to him as long as he'll let me...and maybe someday, he'll read to me. 

PS...This guy, this cute little guy in the sushi fish tank at the Chinese restaurant on Mothers' Day?  Well, he was gone on Friday night.  I'm pretty sure I ate him.

Agrodolce

Yesterday was Mothers' Day.  I was treated to breakfast in bed and coupon for a "purple tree" from my two favorite guys, sent and received multiple mothers' day greetings from important people in my life, and stayed in bed so long that my back started to ache.

We met my mom and stepfather for lunch at our favorite Chinese buffet, and for a few minutes, it seemed like Wayne was going to slip into his usual "point out all the negatives" habit.  You know, like, "The crab legs are awfully small," or, "In places like this, there ain't nothin'..." but he settled down, and we enjoyed a very pleasant meal, complete with two of my favorite things, crab legs and sushi.  Ming Garden is like a tourist attraction, with its indoor fountain and koi pond, and fish tanks full of ichthyic creatures (yes, I had to look that up!). 

Much to everyone's horror, I called this the sushi tank--but I was the only one who had actually eaten any.  What were they worried about?

Mom was pleased with the treat and not having to cook, and we left mention of my brother by the wayside for the afternoon.  I had invited him to go, too, in spite of the fact that we aren't speaking, but he chose to ignore the text message entirely and not show up.  He can lie in the bed he's made, though. 

I wasn't quite ready to go home after lunch.  After all, the house was a wreck, and if we went home, I might feel compelled to clean it.  We took advantage of the beautiful, although cool and breezy, weather to head to the park, where we ran into friends of the family having their own Mothers' Day celebration.  The matriarch of that clan, a really good friend, made some well-meaning comments about Edna, and that's where the day went south for me.  In years past, I may have been angry at her for not knowing when to stop talking, but I know her comments came from the heart and stemmed from her missing Edna too, so forgiveness came easily.  The damage was done, however, and I was sad for the rest of the day, in spite of some very lovely moments. 

The beloved swan couple at the park are now proud parents of these fluffy little cygnets.  (I did NOT have to look that up!)  I could have watched them all day, and was happy to find this video so that I can. 

Andrew was excited that the train was open for the season and took two trips around with his daddy while I soaked up the sun and wiggled my toes in the cool grass.  Some boys were splashing in the creek beside me, chasing tadpoles and getting their shoes wet...I had to resist the teachery, mommy instincts to fuss at them for their language when they yelled, "Oh shit! There are thousands of them!"

I saw lots of interesting dogs while we were there, and was struck once again by how many dogs look like their owners!  You know who you are!  One more reason for me to be hesitant to get a dog--although in my case, I suppose any bitch would do.

There was one more task at hand after leaving the park, and that was the cemetery visit.  I was primed and ready for a good cry at this point, and the tears just rolled as I sat on the granite bench and mourned once again.  Does it ever stop?  It's a beautiful spot, but my favorite tree is dying.  I will be devastated when it does, and much of the beauty will be gone then, too.  This tree hugs me and shelters me when I am there, and when it's gone, visiting will be even lonelier. 

We made it home, finally, to the Sunday evening rush to get things ready for the week ahead...dinner made up of appetizer foods and an hour and a half with the heating pad playing Words With Friends and watching a Harry Potter movie with the boy as he cleaned up the devastation of the living room and an epic Star Wars battle.   All in all, it was a good day. 

And as seems to be my running theme, very bittersweet.