I am so very bad at packing. I long to be one of those women who can just zip around the house with purpose, grabbing exactly the right things and effortlessly zipping them into a suitcase. 

Instead, I am a woman who whines about packing while walking aimlessly around the house, grabbing too many things – some are the right things, some are not. I don’t even put them in suitcases – I just make stacks and piles all over the house until the Mr. finally forces me to be done and starts putting my piles into suitcases and duffel bags.

We’re off for a week at the beach, and I’m so excited! It means I won’t have to pack anymore, too!

Before the beach, though, we have a side trip to a swim meet about an hour or so north of here. Yeah, the side trip is complicating things for a bad packer like me. Plus, this is the kind of beach trip where you have to bring all your food and condiments and toilet paper and stuff. Whew. It’s exhausting to just think about it.

I keep writing lists, but I still have so much randomly important information free floating in my head. I am literally a scatter brain right now.

OK, one more big push and then I’m done! (I hope……)

Our kids fight all the time. 99% of the time, it is a verbal bickering that ebbs and flows throughout the day. Once in awhile, it gets physical – but thankfully, that is the exception.

One day last week, I snapped after the latest battle over who would get to shower first after swim practice. (SIGH) I got really angry, and basically installed martial law for several hours. (Those little rugrats were so lucky that their grandfather was arriving for a visit that afternoon, or it would have been a much longer reign of the wrath of mom!) After I’d had time to calm down a little, I even had each kid write me a letter telling me 3 things they like about their sibling, so that I would know that under all that fighting, I had taught them to love one another.

Let’s just say those hastily written letters didn’t really convince me. 

Fast forward a week to the end of season swim team party.

For the last two years, our son has been honored with a “coaches award,” essentially for good character. This year, he got another award from the coaches – for sportsmanship. And then he also happened to tie for most points in his age group, thus receiving a second trophy for the same season.

As you might imagine, this has not helped the sibling rivalry around here.

Having him receive a single trophy for the third consecutive year would have been bitter enough medicine for our daughter to swallow. But two? That’s just kicking her when she’s down.

It is a delicate line to walk, as a parent – to show your pride in one and compassion for the other, without stifling the joy of one or belittling the disappointment of the other. I have been walking that line for 2 days now – sometimes with more success than others.

Our son deserves to be recognized in the ways that he has. There is no way to say this without sounding like a lovesick mama, but he is an amazing kid. He is outgoing without being pushy, sensitive without being weak, a great student without being a brown noser. He is a genuine leader and a fantastic and compassionate friend. Our daughter shares many of those qualities, but is much, much more reserved, and so doesn’t always get credit for them in the same way that he does. 

He accepted his awards with grace at the party. He has been a tad less graceful at home, with his sister’s delicate feelings.

She reacted to his awards with dignity at the party. She has been a tad less composed at home, as her brother makes room on his shelf for more trophies.

Our culture makes it ok for people to brag about sports related honors. This doesn’t seem the case with other, less athletic awards. She has been honored repeatedly for her writing, but she seems unsatisfied by this in comparison to the shiny trophies that come to sportier folks. I understand that feeling in a 10 year old, but keep trying to remind her that summer swim awards are not the end all and be all.

After another sibling battle this morning (over who got to use the iPad — easy solution….NO ONE DOES), I suggested that they figure out something to do in which they could cooperate and show me that they understood how important it is to me that they figure out how to coexist.

Ironically, the thing that pulled them together was his trophy collection. She suggested that he display them more prominently in his room, and offered to help him  rearrange some other stuff to make it work. Aside from the fact that one of the design ideas involves an upside down wastebasket used as a display platform — they managed to work together and successfully complete their task. (Well, complete might be a strong word since much of the previously displayed stuff is all over the floor right now – but they are headed in the right direction.)

See? She’s a pretty good sport, too.

Blogatage (v) – to deliberately obstruct the process of blogging

My summer schedule and my laptop are blogataging my attempts to update Xanga lately. On my iPhone, I can keep up with reading the Xanga blogs to which I subscribe. I can even comment on said blogs, though it takes me forever to say what I want to say, and sometimes I cut the comments short (for better or worse), or even just lurk around without putting in my two cents. I have attempted to update my blog from the phone on rare occasion. It is not fun for me and my large fingers, and the auto correct function alone is enough to make me scream. So when I finally find a few quiet minutes away from the kids, with my laptop, and something to say (which, surprising as it may seem, is not always the case) — then the laptop decides to lock up, be slow, and spin it’s excruciatingly frustrating rainbow wheel in my face. 

Right now, I managed to muster up enough patience to wait out the spinny wheel of doom.

And what is so important that I was able to put off taking a shower long enough to write this blog post? DUH – I made up a new word. (See above.) 

Nah, just kidding. I mean, I did make up that word – but that’s not what I wanted to write about.

I thought you might want to know that all my years of sitting poolside for summer, winter, and sometimes fall swim seasons has finally paid off for me. I haven’t been able to run lately, thanks to a mild ankle injury obtained in a moment of less-than-graceful step aerobics in my bedroom. After taking a week off from the cardio (which was equal parts lovely and horrifying for me), I finally put on my out of style one piece bathing suit, purchased from the SALE! page of Lands End about a zillion years ago. The Mr. found me pacing around our bedroom in it last weekend, as I tried to work up the nerve to hit the indoor pool at the YMCA to “swim some laps.” I put that in quotes, because I pictured myself amidst lanes of triathletes and former swim team champs, flailing my arms and gasping for breath while clutching my kiddy sized kickboard with white knuckles.

As he always does, the Mr. came through for me and told me to get over myself and get in the pool. He also lent me his goggles and a swim cap. He’s a good egg.

Off I went to the pool, where I was surprised to find no one else in the water. On the one hand, this was good – no Olympic hopefuls to laugh at my inadequacies. However, it made me a bit self conscious to have the two lifeguards watching my every waterlogged move.

After a few old lady looking attempts at breast stroke, I switched to a gaspy freestyle and started to find my groove. I embraced the kickboard. And then I started doing backstroke.

Holy cow, I rock the backstroke.

Seriously, my timing is SENSATIONAL. The Olympics are starting in just a few short days! If they need me, I’m ready and willing to hop across the pond and share my prowess with the world.

I have watched my kids do every stroke enough times to know exactly what they need to fix to improve their times. I am always giving them tips, and thankfully, they have never really noticed that I cannot swim nearly as good as they can, and am basically a total sham. But now that I have become a backstroking GENIUS, I think I will have more credibility.

My freestyle is coming along nicely, too. Less gasping, more pulling, better kicks. It has a long way to go, though.  I have now had 4 indoor swim sessions at the Y, and one very brief one at the outdoor pool (for fear of the sun). Man, is swimming good exercise.

I love backstroke. Ears under water, where you can’t even hear 3 lanes worth of daycare kids hooting and hollering just a few feet away. Face up towards the ceiling where there is plenty of air to breathe. Shoulders and arms pumping, getting a good workout. 

 

Watch out, London. Here I come.

I am a little obsessed with a laundry related problem. I realize this does not sound like an exciting topic for a blog, and yet….here I go.

The sun allergy means sunscreen, and lots of it. The sun allergy also means lots of long sleeves, which can be HOT in the Virginia summer, so light colors are a good option. WHITE is the best option, in terms of comfort.

You see where this is going, right?

I have been known to be a careless slob with a white shirt, at times, but that is not the problem this time. The sunscreen is staining all the new, pricey white items. I have googled to determine that there is a chemical in many sunscreens (and boy do I have quite the array of sunscreens these days) that reacts with iron in water and causes yellow stains. I have had this happen on the odd swim shirt in the past, but it has now become a pervasive problem in my sun shielding wardrobe. The only sunscreen in my arsenal that does not contain the offending chemical (avobenzone) is a zinc oxide based lotion. Zinc oxide makes you look like a ghost, and it’s even less appealing when your ghostly skin is a-peeling.

Back to the yellow staining. Bleaching makes it worse. If only I had googled before trying that option.

Next, I tried the “green” alternatives of lemon juice (nope), Borax (nope), and a white vinegar rinse (nope, again).

How about Oxiclean? Read that makes it worse, too.

I finally decided to try the least eco-friendly option I read about, which was to use a heavy duty rust remover spray. I tried it on my $22.50 Banana Republic white t-shirt (you remember that story, right?) that I got to wear ONE TIME before it became hideously stained.

Nope.

Now I have read that Ivory soap will work. I seriously doubt that it will, but I guess it’s worth a shot.

SIGH.

I have unwillingly become a bit of an eccentric at swim team practice and meets. I am always wearing long sleeves and a floppy sun hat, and sometimes a scarf or wet towel around my ultra-sensitive neck. More than one lady has come up and told me that they think I always look very fashionable in my UPF duds. I agree that some of my get ups are fashionable (or were, before they became tainted with Avobenzone + Iron), but using the word “always” in there kind of takes away their credibility. I have had some kooky days, for sure. It’s ok – I’m owning it. It’s fun to be the kook once in awhile.

We visited The Professors in NC this past weekend, so I could take my kooky look on the road. In the college town where they live, though, pssssht…….no one even gave me a second glance. As my mom says, you can walk around there with no makeup, wearing pajamas, and never comb your hair — and fit right in. The Bubble, it is not.

It also has a lot more shade, what with all the tree huggers preventing deforestation for the building of McMansions. As they say over on the devil Facebook….LIKE.

The current hot item around the house is a long strip of ace bandage. The Mr. took it out yesterday to tie a bag of ice onto my aching ankle, knowing my aversion to cold would prevent me from leaving it in place without it being tethered to my leg. When I finally ripped that sucker off my ankle, our daughter quickly wrapped her ankle in it and ran upstairs to get her crutches. (The play ones – again, remember that story?) Tonight, our son found the bandage lying around and wrapped his hand, then wondered if he could catch a football while wearing it. (He didn’t try, he just wondered.) Next, he wrapped his ankle, and then his sister started whining, and grabbing at it, and I had to banish them to the upstairs with the oh-so-exciting ace bandage.

Hey, while I’m on the kick of referencing stories from past blogs….remember the lantana plants that the Mr. uprooted and left in the garage for a day, thinking they were weeds? I replanted those suckers, and by golly, one of them actually took! It is finally flowering with some buttery yellow buds, and the butterflies are taking notice.

And there’s your happy ending, folks.

 

We had another round of freakish storms last Friday night. There was less damage to our immediate area, but the storms were widespread, widely reported and heavy on high winds. Even so, the heat hasn’t broken. As we continue to have high humidity days at or near the 100 mark, a few small things are refreshing the Turningreens.

Tiny little yellow plums, from our farm share, that are juicy and sweet.

And buckets of water, enjoyed head first.

In the aftermath of the freakish storm earlier this week, the suburban kids have gotten an unexpected early summer vacation treat. Trees that were too weak to climb when they were upright (and subsequently to withstand the storm) are so much more fun when they are toppled over across manicured lawns for horizontal climbing. Sad, but true. They have been having the most fun on a weeping willow that was uprooted in someone’s front lawn. They even claim to have “bungee jumped off the top of it” – which most certainly sounds more perilous than it was in reality. 

Boo Radley Mom (aka me) started the day by asking the kids what they wanted to do today, and then preparing to hear all the different ways that their desires would lead to my skin revolting with welts and rashes. It’s supposed to get to 100 today, so I figured all the requests would be for pool and beach and water parks, etc. The first two requests were indoors – ice skating and roller skating. I should have been thrilled! But, eh – who wants to ice skate in the summer? And the daycares hit the roller rink during the day, meaning there is a crowd of under supervised kids flailing on wheels and crashing into others all day long. Also not my idea of fun. I encouraged the kids to add to the list.

“I’m guessing we can’t go to Water Country?” asked our son. Correct.

“How about the pool?” That was our daughter, who is usually the one asking to leave the pool, so I was surprised. And of course, our usual pool lover (the boy) said he didn’t want to go. And even though I would love nothing more than a stay-at-the-pool-for-fun-all-day kind of day, my skin would not like that. UGH!

Their next idea was something that they both wanted to do. (Miracle in itself.) They wanted to go to the store and get water balloons and have their neighborhood friends come play with those on our lawn. Cheap, easy, and close to the house, where Mommy can be shaded, use the treadmill, do laundry (YAY!), and read the new book she is one chapter into and already totally hooked. (Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn)

When we came back from the store with water balloons in tow, they both let out a disappointed, “Awwwwwww!” in unison, as they heard and saw the giant horizontal weeping willow tree being hacked into pieces and towed away. Good thing they have water balloons to ease the pain! They are filling them up now, and I hear at least one voice of a friend, so perhaps they will have some fun out there. I wonder how long it will last. (I think I’ll consider it a success if it lasts longer than the outing to buy the water balloons in the first place.)

So, about that book. And books in general. I am a library hoarder. I am simply incapable of going into the library without leaving with at least one book, even if I already have a stack of books to read that are rapidly approaching their due date. At least I don’t do this at bookstores – that would be way more expensive. I also hoard books virtually, by constantly adding to my online list of books to read — they get added at a much faster rate than I can read them. And then I pick up books not even on the list and read those. What a reading rebel! 

Anyway, I wanted to read Gone Girl, but when I went on the library website, I saw that it had something like 140 holds placed on it already. And there were only about 4 copies that could even be reserved – the rest were two week “lease books” – first come, first serve. Guess who scored a lease book copy yesterday? It wasn’t even shelved in the right place, and I found it! I just know that other people had given up on that book, seeing that it was “available” in the catalog but not finding it on the shelf. Not me! I’m such a bad ass.

I’ll do a summer reading book blog soon. So I can share my bad assness with you and perhaps inspire you to a hoard a book or two yourself. Oh, and feel free to leave recommendations – this hoarder is always looking to add more to the list.

EDITED TO ADD: As soon as I posted this, the whining began. “He’s stealing all the balloons!” and “She won’t let me fill up any balloons!” The friends are adding to the drama instead of distracting the siblings from one another. Shoot me.

 

 

Yesterday was an intense day. I wrote a lighthearted blog about the concert goers from the night before because I was avoiding thinking about my afternoon.

We had some really bad weather – an enormous, freak storm that came out of nowhere and wreaked havoc all over our city. It sure felt like a tornado, but I’m hearing it was a “super cell.” The photos of the storm clouds are scary, whatever you call it. But not as scary as it was being in it.

I had to pick up our son from camp at a college campus about 15 minutes from home. Our daughter and I had just gotten back from our overnight trip, and she didn’t want to come with me to pick up her sweaty, sporty brother. I knew that thunderstorms were predicted, and we discussed it. She said she’s not scared of storms (true) and after a brief check of the radar (pretty clear – storms were far west of us and the worst of it was predicted to hit much later and far east of us) and a quick text to let her dad know she’d be home alone (his office is less than 2 miles away), I told her she could stay home.

Our son was walking off the playing fields with his teammates when I arrived about 25 minutes early. The coaches had heard thunder, so they were encouraging parents to take their kids home early. I was happy to oblige so we could get home quickly. But that’s when things got ugly. I got a little turned around on the campus, and struggled to find my way to an exit gate. The wind was picking up and debris was starting to pelt the side of the car. This campus is surrounded by beautiful, enormous old trees. I wanted to get away from them with the wind getting stronger. I finally found my way off campus, only to find one of those huge trees had just crashed across the road about 4 cars ahead of me. I don’t know what it was, but I just sensed that things were about to get way worse. I quickly turned the car around in a private, ritzy circular driveway and sped back to campus. Just then, the sirens came over the car radio that there was a tornado warning, and the rain started to come down in sheets. I saw the football stadium ahead of us, and just as I pulled into the lot, my cell phone rang. Our poor daughter was home alone and terrified. She had been on the phone with her dad when the power went out. When it came back on, she called me.

I instructed her to get into our shelter spot in the house. (She’s so responsible that I’m pretty sure she was already there.) I grabbed my purse and yelled to our son to get out of the car and follow me into the stadium. Our first stop was in a passageway under the stadium with brick columns. We huddled behind a column and I kept talking to our daughter while our son cried beside me. I was watching the wind and rain whip debris all over the place in front of us, and wished we could be better protected. That’s when I noticed that the men’s room was open, and we went in there. The entire stadium was deserted, but I felt like we had decent shelter from the storm. Our daughter was calming down, but the conditions she was describing at home were bad. And I knew that the Mr. was likely trying to get home to her in the midst of the storm. My voice was calm, my face was calm, but my hands were shaking like nobody’s business.

Our son told me that someone had walked past. I went out and found a young woman who worked on campus, who had also come to the stadium for shelter. I invited her into our cozy men’s room and explained why I was on the phone. She told me that a tree had nearly landed on her car, and that a metal gate about 5 feet from where our son and I were first huddled had been ripped off by the wind.

While I talked to my daughter, she searched for information on her phone and was able to tell me that the storm was much worse at home than it was where we were. I couldn’t quite imagine that, seeing what I was seeing out the doorway.  We stayed on the phone awhile longer, and when she seemed to indicate that things were finally calming down, I told our daughter that I was going to hang up and call her dad. Just as I said that, I heard a banging and she said, “Someone is at the door!” It was the Mr., of course, who came home as soon as he was able to get there safely.

There was a significant amount of tree damage in our neighborhood, including a large tree down in our next door neighbor’s yard. Amazingly, we had no damage to our house, and only lost power briefly. The kids shook off the experience pretty well, and the Mr. is always grace under pressure. I was on edge all afternoon and really felt my fear once I settled in for the night. I guess having to stay so calm in the midst of it caught up with me when I finally had a chance to decompress and reflect on it all.

My biggest fear is having some natural or manmade disaster happen and being unable to get to my kids. I had one of them with me under scary conditions and one out of my reach, but we were at least in contact. Even so, it was not a comfortable place to be. We are all safe, and the weather today was lovely. I even stumbled into a carpool and didn’t have to return to the scene of my storm experience, so I think that helped me get past the whole thing. That, and writing a blog about it. 

Here are some things I learned from the audience at a concert I attended with our daughter last night. The average age of the concert attendees was probably about 12 and 95% were female.

1. It’s ok to wear a thin white t-shirt over a neon pink bra.
2. Black lace is always appropriate.
3. Forming a heart by curving the fingers on your hands and holding your thumbs together over your head is now a culturally relevant concert phenomenon.
4. Few people just enjoy the concert for what it is – everyone is so desperate to record and photograph the event on their cameras and phones.
5. There are four types of moms at a tweeny bopper concert: a) those who sit amidst a standing/jumping/dancing audience and check their work e-mails; b) those who dance/sing/party JUST like the tweens – she’s just one of the girls!! c) those who drop their kids at the curb with instructions to text for a pick-up [*note - this only works if kids are old enough for the drop off] d) those who try to experience the concert with their kids but recognize they are there as the parent and not as one of the gang. (I was mostly a (d) but may have slipped a little into (b) territory on the dancier songs – damn those swaying hips! But I did text several times during the show, so maybe a little of (a) to balance off my (b)?)
6. People buy single seats to a concert and come alone. Including people who completely blow the stereotypical demographic for a Demi Lovato concert. I mean  completely.
7. Girls screech loudly. (Technically, I already knew this one. But they’re even louder in big masses.)
8. This type of audience thrives on the performer telling them what to do. For example, the opening act suggested that they hold up three fingers and pump their arms to signify “whatever” – a frequent lyric in a song. They just did it and didn’t even realize how lame it was. (But I did realize, of course, and pointed it out to our daughter, who may or may not have appreciated my commentary.)
9. The teenage girl behind me was very angry that her mom wouldn’t let her go somewhere (clearly not this concert, because she was there without supervision, lucky for me). As Teen Girl said, “I mean, she’s a 48 year old with a college degree who sits on her ass all day – what does she have to be stressed about?!?” [SPOILER ALERT - the answer is YOU, Teen Girl.]
10. It’s great to spend time one on one with our daughter, doing fun things, even in the midst of other people’s questionable behavior, poor fashion choices, and loudness.

 

I shared a photo of this week’s CSA farm share box a few days ago. I thought I would tell you about three meals that have come from items in that box since Thursday.

 

1. For dinner on Thursday night, I popped a few red bliss potatoes in the microwave to soften them a bit while sauteeing some nappa cabbage and a whole “sweet candy onion” in a little olive oil. I sliced the potatoes, added them to the pan, and added salt and pepper. Along with that delicious concoction, we had some scrambled eggs mixed with about a teaspoon of sour cream, which gave them a great flavor. Eggs straight from the farm (or as I described them to the kids, “just pooped out of a chicken yesterday”) are so yellow in color! Delicious meal. Too bad the Mr. missed that one while he was out of town.
2. Oh, I just realized I lied. Friday night’s dinner included one item from last week’s CSA box, not the one pictured this week. Anyway, there were two heads of cauliflower in last week’s box, and it looked like they were on the verge of going bad a few days back. I chopped, cleaned, rinsed, and put on a baking sheet with a little olive oil to roast in a hot oven (400 degrees) for about 25 minutes.  And then I put it back in the fridge, because we had other things planned and roasted cauliflower, while delicious, did not fit the menu. This week’s box contained a huge bunch of deliciously fragrant basil – one of my favorite things in the world. Friday night, I suggested a dinner idea using the roasted cauliflower and basil. The Mr. made it happen — he browned some garlic in a pan, added the cauliflower to warm it through, and then put it over whole grain spaghetti. He shredded some fresh basil to put on top and added grated parmesan. It smelled so good, and was a great dinner on a hotter than hot night.
3. Lunch today (Saturday) was an Asian cabbage slaw that I whipped up after a run on the indoor track at the Y. (Still hiding from the sun and also the humidity.) The dressing included olive oil, rice vinegar, sesame oil, sugar, chopped cilantro, salt, and pepper. The CSA ingredients included a whole head of Napa cabbage and about 6 chopped spring onions. I added sliced almonds and sesame seeds, and we had a filling lunch that everyone enjoyed.

 

I have been less enthusiastic about using the beets we’ve been getting. We have at least two weeks worth of beets that need to be processed and cooked. When I deal with beets, it looks like a crime scene. The Mr. is a little more skilled and willing – so he’ll have to tackle them this weekend. He’ll likely roast them on the barbecue. I will eat them, but I’m not a huge fan. They are my least favorite CSA item of the season so far. 

I’m off to shred some more cabbage to add to the leftover salad. Hope you are all enjoying some farm fresh seasonal goodies this weekend, too!

The Mr. and I spent a week in Tuscany on our honeymoon. I remember walking down a dusty winding road from where our hotel sat nestled on a hill, heading into town to purchase our last souvenirs before heading home. Those last few lira were burning a hole in our pockets, and since there was nothing touristy about this little town, we had to be creative about what we purchased.

When it doubt, buy wine. Especially in Italy.

And so we did – we bought a bottle or two to enjoy sooner than later, and one to let age and drink on our 10th wedding anniversary. We did that – 5 years ago.

Anyway, at the last minute, I looked up and saw a simple glass wine carafe on an upper shelf, and decided it would make a good souvenir. It reminded me of the plain carafes of wine that my Italian grandparents would have on the table for big family dinners. This one was much smaller, and stamped with the official symbol of the Chianti region – but that just made it a better reminder of our stay in Tuscany.

Here it is, 15 years later. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We rarely use it for anything other than flowers. These daisies were grown in our yard, then picked and arranged by our daughter.

Whenever I see it, I think of that little shop in Tuscany, with the heavy stone entryway and the dark wooden shelves – a little dusty, but lined with beautiful bottles of wine and simple treasures like this.

For our 15th wedding anniversary this week, the Mr. sent me a gigantic floral arrangement, which I love. It certainly wouldn’t fit in our little carafe-turned-vase, but seeing them side by side in our home reminds me of how far we’ve come over these 15 years, growing into a loving family of which I couldn’t be more proud.

Happy Anniversary, Mr.

I love you.