Tag: fun

Periodic Table

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We were discussing the periodic table at dinner last night because … well, doesn’t everyone discuss the elements at dinner? It was just the boys and me at the table—J was off doing whatever thespians do on opening night. The conversation started with, “Let’s see how many elements we can name that start with the letter….” It might have been a fun game when I was in high school and actually remembered the elements; but I’m resourceful, so I was making them up.

I made up elements that included the names of our cats (Potonium). I made up elements after some random foods (Maltedmilkballium). And I made some with names that were just plain silly (Phantomite), but elemental, nonetheless.

The boys were getting bored with my silliness (interesting role reversal), so they decided to switch it up. “Let’s name the elements in order,” W challenged his brother. “Hydrogen.”

“Helium!” I shot in before anyone else could. I knew it was the only one I had a chance of getting right.

“Lithium,” C added to the game.

“Beryllium,” W continued, and they both seemed to wait for me to jump in. Nope. I got nothing.

“Boron,” C guessed.

“If you took regular chem, this would be a piece of cake,” I told him. He looked offended. “No,” I back-pedaled. “You would have had to memorize the periodic table. I memorized it when I took chemistry.” Of course, I only took two years of science in high school because there was ART, after all.

“Yeah Mom, but that was back when the periodic table only had five elements,” W informed me. Ow.

Yes, to my children, I am “old,” and they love to tease me about it. And someday, they will be “old” to their children, as well. It’s the circle of life. One day, when W is talking about the periodic table of elements at his dinner table, the circle of life will come full circle, and I will be the one laughing.

Sharing

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I have a new sweatshirt. It is grey and purple, fleecy and soft. And it is the perfect weight for winter we have been having. Not only was this sweatshirt on sale, I had a coupon and an extra discount for recently celebrating my birthday. All told, I believe the store paid me to take the sweatshirt off their hands.

Because it was a recent purchase, I wore it for the first time this weekend. It immediately got my daughter’s attention. “I like that shirt, Mom,” she told me, running her hand up my arm. “It’s so soft!”

“Thanks,” I replied. “It’s the same brand as the one you have, but it’s a different style.”

“I really like this one.” She paused, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “Did you get me one, too?” she asked, smiling and batting her eyes for effect.

Of course, I thought. Because I always buy you things when I buy things… just to make it fair. But to her, I said, “Um, no. I didn’t think ‘matching your mother’ was on your fifteen-year-old bucket list.” I winked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s okay. I’ll bet I can wear that one.” She turned, her hair flipping, and skipped up the stairs. And I realized that for the first time, she probably could wear this sweatshirt—my sweatshirt—and more importantly, that this is a major milestone for this kid.

Almost exactly a year ago, this child, who’s always run a little on the small side, was being tested to make sure that she wasn’t deficient in anything necessary for “normal” development. Even though she had always been off the bottom of the growth chart, the doctor just wanted to be sure. The blood tests and x-rays revealed that all is fine, but her bone age is two years lower than her chronological age.

Since that time, she has gained ten pounds and grown several inches. She eats non-stop, and she is always hungry. (I don’t know why no one ever talks about how much teenage girls can eat. If you get enough skinny dancers in your house, you may as well be feeding an army of teenage boys….)

While my daughter is still small for her age, she’s catching up. It wasn’t until she asked about my sweatshirt that I recognized my shirt is only one size larger than her own. She could easily wear it, and it would only be a little big. So for now, I’ll keep it in a safe (and hidden) place. But soon, she’ll be wearing it. I can share. And after all, I’m kind of flattered that my clothes fit her teenage sense of style.

Calculations

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One never knows what is going to happen at the dinner table in my house, nor how that information might be used in future conversations. We have discussions that range from the sublime to the absurd, and everything in between. And the conversations tend to wander from one end of that spectrum to the other—often multiple times over the course of the same meal.

On Friday night, the boys became engaged in a conversation that was both entertaining and thought provoking. Dinner was going along smoothly until one of them dropped some food on the floor and started pondering the edibility of the morsel in question.

The next thing I knew, the older brother had pulled out his napkin, and was working through a formula to determine whether or not one should remove food from the floor and eat it. His napkin was the paper on which he was composing his formula—writing out the variables involved in making the necessary “calculations.”

The younger boy watched critically as his brother developed this idea, throwing in some of the factors he believed to be important. C had based his calculations on an “average bedroom floor,” using food on a plate and (basically) food in the cats’ litter box as his extreme conditions.

“Wait! Let me show you mine!” W said, grabbing the pen from C. The wheels in his head sped up, formulating, calculating. He developed a complicated equation in which one variable was “harmful life forms per square centimeter,” and another was “time in contact.” There were others, as well as a series of unknowns over other unknowns. They bantered back and forth as they considered whether they had covered all of the important elements.

Ultimately, the bite that fell on the floor made its way to the trash. Through it all, the boys were laughing and carrying on about various funny (i.e. “disgusting”) things that could happen to the food to affect edibility.

In my mind, I had to consider how this incident might have been different if I had been eating with two girls. The girls would have immediately picked up the food, thrown it out, and cleaned up the floor.

But in the interest of developing the boys’ talents at creating new formulas, I have some ideas. On Monday morning, I was texting my daughter—who spent the weekend with her father. I told her I missed her. She said she missed me more. “Tough to know,” I texted. “We can measure later.”

Perhaps the boys could write a formula for that.

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Feast or famine

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“There’s some Danish there you can have for breakfast,” I told the first child to the kitchen this morning.

“I saw it, but that’s not what I want. I’m going to have cereal,” my youngest said as he reached into the cabinet for a bowl. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.

“More than likely, no one will want the Danish. Your brother’s been looking for breakfast food all week. Now that we actually have something other than cereal, he’ll choose something else.” W smiled, knowing this was a real possibility. In fact, what my oldest has been seeking are the 26 muffins I didn’t buy him last week after our text exchange.

The text exchange went like this: I asked a simple question—a question about breakfast, asked via text because kids communicate via text anyway. I would have asked in person if I had been there. I would have waited to ask. But the fact was, I was at work and planned to stop at the grocery store on my way home. So I asked a reasonable question.

The answer was one of those moments when the true personality of the child emerged, unedited and unrestricted.

“If I go to the store on my way home, what do you want for breakfast?” was the question.

A few minutes later, the answer came: “A few cinnamon chip muffins (and by a few, I mean like a bunch because most likely I will eat one tomorrow and then try to consume multiple both weekend days and then I would want some for the following week and then also taking into account that other people would wish to consume some as well so maybe like 30 muffins).”

This response caught me off guard, but it shouldn’t have. I laughed out loud at the uncut version of a teenage super-appetite. I went home with eight muffins: four cinnamon chip, and four for my other teens to share.

Of course, the muffins were gone in seconds. Food doesn’t last when teenagers are around. Unless they are sick of it. Then it lasts too long. And they usually get sick of it just when I have purchased extra because it’s on sale. Cereal, chips, cookies… it doesn’t matter. The pattern is always the same. If we have enough to last more than a day, they realize they are sick of it. I believe this is where the saying “feast or famine” originated—from parents not only trying to keep enough food in the house, but food that their teenagers would actually eat.

In the end, C ate the Danish for his breakfast, though I’m sure he would have preferred muffins. Then again, if I’d had muffins, he would have preferred Danish.

Hairless cats

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“When you grow up, I’m going to buy you a hairless cat!” my daughter taunted her younger brother this morning, in a way that implied this was the ultimate curse.

My youngest, unfazed that he would be saddled with a non-cuddly pet at the hands of his sister, snickered and continued eating his breakfast. He didn’t even look up from his cereal.

“It’ll jump up on your lap, and you’ll want to pet it, but you won’t want to touch it,” my daughter continued. “It’ll rub up against you, wanting attention, but it’ll be like holding a wrinkly, newborn baby—a naked, PURRING baby!” Hmm… having held a newborn baby or two in my time, I can’t say that would be a terrible thing. But it wouldn’t actually be a baby….

“You’ll have to put on lotion to touch it!” I’m not sure if she meant on himself or on the cat….

Seriously. I have no idea where that last thought came from. I did once have a cat that pulled out all of his fur, a nervous habit, and I called the vet to see if he needed sunscreen. But lotion? Perhaps a hairless cat would get dry skin in the winter. Interesting. I am always fascinated by the direction conversations take in our house.

This particular conversation emerged from a series of disagreeable discussions that J and her older brother had engaged in since they met up at the breakfast table. Finally disgusted, she turned her attention to her younger brother to have some more jovial interaction. We had been talking about who was occupying the wrong seat at the breakfast table; how annoying the morning singing was; and a plethora of other seemingly meaningless topics when she announced that she was going to be a crazy cat lady when she grew up. Then, the hairless cat idea began to emerge.

While the morning had not been going well, this conversation—just as I was getting ready to walk out the door—turned my mood around. As I drove off to work, I was still giggling about the hairless cat, and the “punishment” she would bestow upon her brother when they were older….

Technology

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1962 - the Jetsons-03 copyright - Hanna-Barbera from: https://www.flickr.com/photos/x-ray_delta_one/
1962 – the Jetsons-03 copyright – Hanna-Barbera
from: https://www.flickr.com/photos/x-ray_delta_one/

When I was a kid, I remember watching the Jetsons navigate their space-age world, and I would marvel at their futuristic (and highly improbable) technology. The family would zip around in flying vehicles, push buttons to complete simple tasks like raise the door and prepare their food, lift their feet when the robot maid was vacuuming, and even talk with their friends and family on their video telephone screen. My eyes were glued to the television, wondering what it might be like to have such amazing technology. Not once, while I was watching these cartoons, did I expect my own children would be holding video chats in my house.

Fast forward many years to Friday evening at my house.

Two of my teenagers are sprawled on the living room floor, the iPad propped up between them. (Ironically, my third teen is off the grid, camping in the woods….) They are watching funny videos, laughing, and chatting. They are telling jokes, and sharing favorite Internet sites. And they are discussing an economics assignment that is due by midnight. I can hear them talking about resources, analysis, and the performance of various companies.

Even though there are only two teens in my house, there is a friend with them. She is on the iPad via FaceTime. Early in their conversation, I had a brief chat with her about some treats I made that she particularly liked. Yes, the video chat technology that was thought to be science fiction back in my childhood is the reality of the world in which we live today.

These days, I never know who will appear in my living room. Friends and their pets are the usual visitors. My son’s teacher, teaching assistant, and classmates are also frequent visitors, now that he is a member of an online classroom. I always try to stay out of the room when the calls or classes are happening, as I am not a fan of video chatting; only every now and then will I take part in one of these conversations.

Despite my own reluctance to engage, FaceTime and video conferencing are wonderful tools, useful for many things. My children can talk to friends, hold study sessions, flirt with the objects of their affection, and spend lazy summer days with their step-sister, who resides hundreds of miles away. These tools are changing the face of education, employment, and many other areas. No longer do students need to be physically present to take part in a class. They can attend lectures from remote locations; they can hold virtual classes through chat rooms; and their classmates can hail from nearly anywhere in the world. I’ve had job interviews and held parent-teacher conferences via Skype. Video conferencing technology brings people together in ways never before possible.

Yes, in our world, my children have amazing technology at their fingertips, and it will continue to develop and change. It makes me wonder what might be next. While I don’t know what is coming, I am looking forward to the day I have my own robot maid!

Meals

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The idea of “meals” takes on a whole new meaning when there are teenagers in the house. When my children were younger, we would eat three meals a day with the possibility of small snacks in between. Nowadays, meals all blend together with no real distinction. Snacks are simply a way to extend a meal and keep eating when it is not “meal time,” per se. My children seem to eat one meal a day, and it lasts all day.

The meal that I find most interesting is the Midnight Meal. It seems my children—one in particular—can’t make it through the night without a Midnight Meal. When I was a kid, we referred to this late night need to eat as a “midnight snack,” but I can honestly say I never took part in this practice myself. I remember being hungry at midnight, but the hunger was never enough to propel me out of bed, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where I could raid the refrigerator.

The “midnight snack” has morphed into a bowl of cereal, then another, and perhaps a third. A yogurt will supplement this small snack, and maybe some crackers. Oh wait! Is that a leftover BURGER I see?? Cold cuts!! Any food available is fair game for a hungry teenager at midnight.

Nope, it’s no longer a “snack” in my house. It is a veritable feeding frenzy, the panic that sets in as a teenager is about to go to bed, but realizes that bedtime means the possibility of hours without food. At that point, a teen can’t bear the thought of being away from the kitchen for more than a few minutes. It is this panic that leads to the Midnight Meal.

Interestingly, the quest for the Midnight Meal usually begins as soon as I say, “Hey, it’s time for bed.” By this time, it is already later than a kid should go to bed, but that doesn’t stop the hungry teen. The teen is hungry simply because it is bedtime. Which confirms my theory about a feeding frenzy.

If I went to bed with that much food in my stomach, I would not be able to sleep. But a teenager has merely to walk up the stairs to his/her room, and the majority of the food has been digested, the calories burned off. This super-charged metabolism gives me very little time to lock down what little food remains in order to save enough for the next day’s breakfast….

Oddities #2

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As the mom of a brood of hungry teens, I tend to buy various favorite food items when they are on sale. Bagels fall into this category because they freeze well for a short period of time. I buy them, slice them, and pop them in the freezer for consumption over the next couple of weeks.

For some reason, it seems my children never finish one bag before they start another bag. I have, at times, had two or more bags with half a bagel kicking around in the freezer. After all, we all know that if you want a whole bagel, the top and bottom must both come from the same bagel, right? Teen rule #1 about consuming bagels: Do not ever split up a bagel to make a new whole.

Interestingly, the single bagel halves in my freezer tend to be the bottom half. In one way, that is not surprising. The bagel bottoms would likely be the last in the bag. The surprising thing is that I have found up to three bagel bottoms lingering in my freezer while a new bag is being consumed.

To discover the reasoning behind this oddity, I went straight to the source. “Would you rather eat the top of a bagel or the bottom?” I asked my youngest. He thought for a minute.

“The bottom,” he responded, so I asked him why. “It tastes better.” Hmm. If it is all the same bagel, does one piece “taste better” than the other? This thought is an interesting one, but does not explain the reasoning for the plethora of bagel bottoms in my freezer.

I moved on to my next test subject, who was cleaning her room. Since this activity is one I try not to interrupt, I made it quick. “Would you prefer to eat the bottom of the bagel or the top?”

“It depends on what kind of bagel it is. If it’s a sesame bagel, I’d rather eat the top because it has all the sesame seeds. If it’s a plain bagel, I like the bottom.”

The response of my oldest? “I eat them both,” …and everything else in sight, I’ve learned.

My research was, therefore, inconclusive. There is no reason that I should have three bagel bottoms loitering in my freezer. According to my children, they eat both tops and bottoms equally. Which leads me back to the question of when a container is empty. If half a bagel remains, but the eater wants a whole bagel, is the bag considered “empty”? This will likely remain another of the great mysteries of raising teens.

Snowmen

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Each year at this time, an army of snowman cookies arrives at my house. Uh, wait… let me start over.

Each year at this time, through a great deal of effort on my part, an army of snowmen arrives at my house. This year, I tried to gain support for the cause. On Sunday morning, I looked at W sitting on the couch surfing the Internet on the iPad. “Hey W,” I watched him intently. He looked up. “Do you like to make little balls out of clay?” I asked with a tone that implied I had something exciting in store for him.

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow before he sighed with a hint of disgust. “Do you want help with your snowmen?” Yep, he was on to me. Every year, I try the same tactic.

I nodded too fast, like an excited puppy. “Yeah! You wanna help?”

“Not really,” he replied as he returned to the iPad. I went to the kitchen, hauled out the bowl full of dough, and began to roll it into balls. Tiny balls. Actually, three different sizes per snowman. These cookies are labor intensive, but they are the local favorite—in my house, in my neighborhood, and among my family. The fact that they have been a favorite is why I have continued to make them. Every year. For seventeen years.

It wasn’t long before I had an army of little snowmen on my kitchen table. And taste-testers hovering. My daughter had her first bite. “I think we should keep them all this year. We give away too many.” This thought was one that would never fly with my neighbor who believes I make these cookies specifically for her and then withhold all but a small number.

I turned to Facebook with this thought. To my neighbor I posted, “My taste-tester just tried a snowman and says we need to keep them all this year.” The reply: a resounding “NO!” and the annual “war of the snowmen” had begun.

At least daily, I receive a text, Facebook message, phone call, or an in-person assault. “Where are my snowmen?!” And daily, I have to deliver the difficult news that they are still naked, they have to stick together for their “army” training, or they have not yet said good-bye to their friends. (Really, I’m stalling while I make other cookies to “fluff up” the plate). Soon, my neighbor on the other side adds her two cents in anticipation of receipt of her yummy snowmen.

These little snowmen have evolved over the years. Initially, they were simply a part of my cookie tradition. But through the annual battle, these cookies have taken on a life of their own. They add extra fun to the holidays in my neighborhood, and they bring us together each year. I imagine I will continue to make them for another seventeen years. And I wonder how the tradition will evolve from here.

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Packages

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My youngest and I were discussing a package that I recently ordered—not a present for anyone, but a necessary item to make some presents that I will be giving. Because I never think of it quite early enough, stores generally run out of the item by this point in the season. So I went online and found what I was looking for; and I ordered some. If I’m lucky, the package will be here before Christmas. “Maybe the package will arrive today?” W said thoughtfully.

“I’d be surprised. I don’t think it has even been shipped yet.”

His expression brightened in thought, and I could see his mind churning. “What if the government discovered the ability to teleport things, and they only shared the technology with the USPS and UPS?” Yeah… because that’s going to happen. But imagination is an amazing thing, isn’t it?

“So your packages just appear at your house? Like… Boom! There’s my package!?” I pantomimed a surprised look as I glanced at the kitchen floor.

He laughed. “Yep, like that.”

“Darn! I just tripped over my package. I wish those people would stop delivering things to the middle of my kitchen when I’m not expecting it!” I dramatized tripping over a package that appeared via this new delivery method.

“What if you ordered something heavy, and it landed on the cat?” He cringed for effect.

“Ooh, that would not be good! Hopefully, the cat could run away fast enough.”

“Especially if you ordered something really big!” he added.

“Yikes!” I responded, thinking back to a time when something very big was mistakenly delivered to my house. I had to call UPS to come pick it up because it wouldn’t even fit through my front door. I briefly wondered if they would be able to teleport a pick-up as well as a delivery….

“Imagine if you ordered a car, and it landed right on your kitchen table!” W said, and we both laughed. I imagine that would be the end of my house, not just my kitchen table.

And with a little imagination, I now know how thankful I am that the government does not (yet) have this technology!