While celebrating a family birthday around a crowded, multi-generational table, I pontificated at my children about the way certain dishes and cuisines have shifted within American society from outsider status to everyday favorites. My immigrant in-laws nodded in agreement as we all discussed the way “normal” home cooking varies over time and between homelands.
“Why, when Grandma was a child,” I intoned, “spaghetti was an ethnic Italian food that your American great-grandmother would never have made at home. Isn’t that funny, since we eat pasta and pizza every week?”
“Ah yes,” replied my younger son, “cuisine-ophobia is a terrible thing!”
QÔR is one of the many brands that has popped up in recent years seeking to combine modern performance fabrics with stylish silhouettes.
Want to commute by bike but need to meet a certain level of business appropriate attire upon arrival? QÔR could have what you’re looking for.
The same features that work for active commuting are key elements of a successful, compact travel wardrobe: fabrics that launder easily and dry quickly, resistwrinkles, and release odors.
Teen capsule wardrobe TOPS
Teen capsule wardrobe BOTTOMS
While QÔR makes pieces for both men and women, our household made the brand’s acquaintance with the purchase of men’s items for DH and DS1.
Travel capsule wardrobe for a teen boy
In a bid to create a compact, packable travel capsule wardrobe that could take my son almost anywhereI might drag himwith reasonable style, I picked out five† of QÔR’s pieces he could mix and match for our first order from the brand.
He’s a young teen just growing into men’s sizes. His more formal travel pieces will also serve as dress clothes for occasional use at home.
Three QÔR garments are his key travel pieces:
Navy jacket in Italian fleece
Merino hoodie (in grey)
Lightweight grey trousers in a quick dry, technical fabric
We combined these with long- and short-sleeved t-shirts (3 total), a pair of jeans, lightweight knit casual pants (1 pair) and shorts (1 pair), with a synthetic fiber, plaidbutton down shirt to complete* the wardrobe.
Most of the non-QÔR pieces in the capsule came from Coolibar, whose sun protective clothing represents the major part of our family’s summer/outdoor wardrobes.
The colors in the tartan dictated the color scheme for the rest of the wardrobe: navy and grey with touches of white and brighter blue. The t-shirts coordinated in navy, bright blue, and heather grey.
QÔR’s heavyweight navy jacket in a sweatshirt-like poly/cotton blend fleece is nice enough to pass inspection in situations where other men are wearing proper suits. Simultaneously, it is heavy enough to layer for warmth in chilly weather. There is a reasonably subtle, slightly asymmetrical zip closure behind the more traditional three button front to keep out drafts. It is comfortable enough that my son will grab it in lieu of a sweatshirt while lounging around our house.
Aside from the front zip closure, technical features include a zippered chest pocket and a reflective patch mostly hidden under the collar at the back of the neck. My use of flash photography is the reason it is so obvious in the first photo. There is a small, fairly subtle QÔR logo printed on one wrist.
Logo without flash
Logo reflecting flash
Chest pocket unzipped
Chest pocket zipped shut
Though the most expensive QÔR purchase I’ve made, the Italian Fleece Blazer ($158) is also the best value. It is versatile, meets my son’s needs perfectly, and he likes wearing it! If I weren’t afraid he’d outgrow it, I would buy a second right now to guard against its wearing out. A navy jacket certainly won’t ever go out of style.
Like many boys his age, my son prioritizes comfort over fashion. He likes to express himself with graphic tees, and he prefers certain colors over others, but, beyond that, he’d be happy with the same sweatpants and t-shirt combo every day.
Mom (a.k.a., I), on the other hand, expects a somewhat higher standard, especially when we travel together.
I don’t dress in a particularly formal way myself, but I have come to realize that being nicely put together makes city travel easier.
A very casual outfit must be changed to allow for some activities. Modesty restrictions at churches and temples require covering up tanks and shorts, for example, and the same garments are unthinkable for dining at nicer restaurants.
A young man wearing a navy jacket and grey slacks should be welcome every place he wishes to go.
Tank inspection at Vienna Military History Museum
The Italian Fleece Blazer is too thick to seriously consider hand washing during travel. That said, I rarely find a need to wash outer layers like this one whether at home or on the road. I have laundered this jacket once or twice using my home machine and laid it flat to dry. These photos reflect a frequently worn, occasionally washed garment.
One complaint my son has about his jacket is that a larger iPhone 6+ doesn’t fit its zippered chest pocket. He carries it in one of the two welt hand pockets, but it sticks out somewhat and I worry that it isn’t secure.
From my perspective, the jacket would benefit from an interior zip pocket large enough to secure a passport. If it had a rear vent, or, ideally, side vents, I suspect it would be just a bit more comfortable for travel, but my son never complained.
The hefty Italian fleece works for us because we live in New England. For our June trip to Iceland and Austria by way of Belgium and Germany, the blazer functioned best as an outer (heavyweight) layer.
Most of my son’s dress up occasions at home are likely to occur around the holidays when our weather is cool. Those living—or traveling—closer to the equator or looking for suits to wear primarily indoors should consider a lighter weight jacket for travel, but this one is great for Northern climes and cold-blooded types.
The Lightest Trouser
While less beloved than his fleece jacket, QÔR’sThe Lightest Trouser ($118, shown here in Steel Grey) lives up to the descriptive moniker. They pack up small and weigh very little. These pants are easy to travel with.
Make no mistake: my son would rather be wearing sweatpants. If he must wear “real pants,” however, he judges these very good. These trousers allow as much freedom of movement as knit sweats or joggers.
Lightest Trousers hold up to rounds of Mini Golf and Pit Put
Segway Tour training run in the Austrian Alps
Like many (most?) men’s brands, QÔR trouser sizing begins at a 30″ waist. My son is narrower than that, and still takes an XS size when available. In a tidy inverse of women’s vanity sizing, it turns out that men hate to be labeled “small”—or, God forbid, EXTRA small!—so options are frequently quite limited. He needs to belt these pants to keep them up, but they don’t look sloppy that way, even on the rare occasion when I insist he tuck in his shirt.
QÔR Lightest Trouser back details
Photos for this post show a young man who should be wearing a 28″/31″ in size 30″/32″ trousers that we hemmed by about an inch.
The polyester/spandex fabric blend is the best and the worst feature of the trousers. No other material would be so easy to travel with. That said, the synthetic does have a sheen to it and a difference in hand that no one would ever mistake for proper wool dress pants.
The week we received them, and before we packed them for Europe, I let my son do what he would if I weren’t around to nag him: he wore the same outfit, including these pants, every day for the better part of a week. He wore them sitting on the the floor to do his school work. He wore them to the gym with his dad. He no doubt wiped his hands on his trousers instead of a towel or napkin, etc.
After five days, I gave them an arms-length sniff test before washing them. No discernible odor. Anyone sniffing a teen any closer a) deserves whatever he gets, and b) is some kind of perv.
I held them up and stared intently: while not as crisp as a recently ironed suit trouser, there were no egregious wrinkles.
After washing in the morning with a load of delicates to simulate hand washing on the road, I hung The Lightest Trousers to dry for the length of a business day. They were ready to wear after dinner when I remembered to check on them—somewhere around eight hours later.
In practice, this held true during our travels, as well. These were the only pants he had with him that I would consider sink washing with total confidence that overnight would be sufficient time to dry. His knit bottoms were just too heavy to consider more than spot cleaning.
Blending in boarding a bus full of scientists in Klosterneuburg, Austria
My son never smelled stinky, his trousers didn’t seem inclined to stain, and they didn’t look sloppy when we dined in a fine European restaurant with my husband’s distinguished colleagues.
These trousers represent a best use case for when synthetic fabrics are a great solution.
Pullover Merino hoodie
Though not my son’s favorite piece to wear, the QÔR 17.5 Merino Pullover Hoodie ($98, shown in Aluminum Grey) in 195 GM, medium/light-mid- weight wool blended with 11% nylon for durability, was a key piece to make sure he was suitably attired for all the conditions we faced.
He brought the pullover with him when conditions didn’t seem to warrant a jacket because it was so compact and easily carried.
He layered it with all of his other pieces when the weather during our Iceland stopover felt more like winter than our expectations for mid-June.
He chose to layer a Frogg Toggs packable poncho on top to cope with the rain instead of bringing a waterproof jacket. He felt this combo was more comfortable, and the poncho weighed less than his existing rain coat, so I approved it for this particular summer trip.
Aside from the days in Iceland with significant rain that required the voluminous poncho, my son looked quite tidy, and pretty equivalent to local teens we saw on our travels. Even in European capitals, his attire compared well to other kids his age.
My son prefers zip front sweatshirts to pullovers. I seriously considered a similar weight alternative, the 190 Merino Full Zip Hoodie ($168), in Indigo Blue or one from another great brand, Icebreaker, to suit that preference.
For an expensive item, I did want to maximize his likely re-wearing of the garment by honoring his preferences. I want these pieces to be part of his everyday wardrobe; a young teen doesn’t need dedicated travel clothes he might outgrow before they’re worn out.
Two major and one minor point pushed me to choose what I thought was more practical over my son’s first choice. Packing bulk and washability were the deciding factors; appearance added weight to my choice.
A zip front and pockets would be bulkier and harder to wash with other delicates. Zippers tend to chew on other items in the wash!
The pullover style has a bit less fabric, fewer layers to delay dry time, and fewer parts that could fail. A zipper could also set off metal detectors during travel, though I suspect that’s unlikely. The extra zip layered beneath his Italian Fleece Blazer would also look a bit less sleek/tidy/nice compared to a pullover’s smooth front.
Finally, as for color, while I thought my son would look great in the lovely Indigo Blue color, grey was the more practical choice for maximum matching flexibility and avoiding stains. He likes brighter, more fun colors, but I was shopping and packing for versatility this time. We already had a second shade of vibrant blue featured in his button front and a t-shirt, so Indigo Blue might not work with every single garment we were packing.
The Pullover Hoodie packed down very small. My son could carry it inside his Tom Bihn Travel Cubelet ($40, Northwest Sky shown) along with his passport, wallet, and iPhone 6+. This compact, 5.7” x 7.3” x 3” bag could even be worn beneath his blazer for security where it counted.
Though packed full with the hoodie inside, all items could be removed and accessed without much difficulty or the inadvertent spilling of other items that occurs when it’s least convenient with a tightly packed bag. Most other hoodies—especially those with zippers—simply would not have passed this test.
Visible branding vs. the tourist who wants to blend in
QÔR branding is generally fairly subtle, though “active lifestyle” features like reflective strips might be visible or displayable with some pieces.
Logos on nice clothes annoy me. This is a pet peeve of mine with some performance brands, too proud of themselves to actually get my business. If I’m spending $50 and up for a merino wool t-shirt, I’d like to let the richness of the fabric speak for itself. I don’t need a corporate sponsor telling the world I buy cool clothes.
Logo without flash
If you can see a label on my clothes, odds are it’s the tag sticking up at my neckline. I’d prefer you let me know so I can tuck it away where it belongs!
QÔR makes quality pieces sold by top notch staff
QÔR quality has been consistently good. We have (okay, I have) washed, dried, packed, and (he has) worn and carried my son’s QÔR-centric wardrobe across America and to Europe over the better part of a year. The jacket and trousers are part of his regular, daily wardrobe. I have yet to notice any wear or tear, and have yet to find so much as a loose stitch to complain about.
Customer service made ordering from an untested brand easy and non-stressful. QÔR staffhavebeen truly exemplary, and they play a big part in making higher prices worth paying by my metrics.
I emailed back and forth, asking many questions about sizing and colors. One rep, Sue, grabbed product from the shelves and sent me cell phone photos of color combinations in response to my request for more information about how different blues and greys might work together.
I was offered free shipping to help make the remote fitting process easier. Policies seemed flexible, with a real dedication to making the shopping experience work for the customer.
Returns and exchanges are also easy. I did a few “back and forth” exchanges in search of correct sizes and preferred style and fit. I’ve come to trust that their guarantee is as straightforward as it seems:
“We’ll take it back if you don’t like it. Without question. At any time.”
Putting it all together makes a (capsule) wardrobe
A wisely chosen travel ensemble can take a tourist virtually anywhere. It needn’t be uncomfortable, either. I think this is as true for teens as it is for grown men and women.
Putting such an outfit together is a skill I’d like to teach my son while he still relies upon me to provide the bulk of his wardrobe.
If he takes up ballroom dancing or joins a performance group that wears tuxedos, he’ll have to sort out travel of that kind for himself. Odds don’t seem to point in that direction, however. His brother, on the other hand…
We packed for two weeks in Europe with no checked baggage, flying on a discount Economy ticket with Icelandair. My son’s entire wardrobe, plus a few items of mine, fit in a Tom Bihn Aeronaut 45.
Teen boy capsule wardrobe packed in Tom Bihn Aeronaut 45
Vienna, Austria demonstrating the futility of rolling suitcases
Combine a few special pieces sewn from easy care, packable fabrics with travel-oriented features like zippered pockets with a kid’s everyday wardrobe. Dress things up a little, but not too much. Keep comfort in mind while assessing good looks. Everyone can be happy. This strategy can take you anywhere in the world.
Though there are lots of great capsule wardrobe posts online, the vast majority are for women, and, then, mostly for young women. While the pace of change in men’s clothing may be slower than it is for that of ladies, both genders enjoy—but also sometimes suffer from—greater choice in what to wear than most people did in the past. Choices give one more room to pack inefficiently, potentially leading to over-filled bags that somehow still fail to contain what’s really needed.
First class Deutsche Bahn compartment on scenic Rhine Valley route from Innsbruck to Köln
The benefits of thoughtful planning and careful packing apply equally to men and women, young and old. In fact, I’d argue that family groups with kids of any age in tow will gain far more from thinking ahead and curating clothing choices than carefree singles do. Just multiply every excess by four, as well as every opportunity for something unexpected to pop up.
Other sources for technical fiber, thoughtfully designed packable clothes
If you like the idea of business-ish styling made with modern performance fabrics for ease of care, bike commuting, or one bag travel, but QÔR doesn’t have exactly what you’re looking for, I can also recommend Ministry of Supply menswear based upon one positive personal experience, Icebreaker for merino, and some of Ex Officio‘s less sporty pieces.
A few related brands I’ve got my eye on but haven’t yet tried include merino dress shirt maker Wool & Prince, Outlier, and British travel clothing specialist Rohan.
Gratitude to the long suffering teen who made this post possible
This post wouldn’t have been possible without a lot of help from and even more patienceon the part of my long-suffering teen. He posed for photos with only minimal eye rolling and answered more than a few questions about comfort and fit in spite of his constant desire to get back to his own interests sooner rather than later.
Without a doubt, my boy is a blessing.
†The other two pieces from our first order were a pair of light grey casual pants and a bright blue, merino wool blend polo shirt. Either of these could work in the travel wardrobe as they fit with the color scheme, but were ultimately not first choices for one bag travel on this particular trip to Europe.
Navy knit pants are dressier looking than light grey ones. My son also prefers the feel of a blend with more natural fibers than synthetic, which the Coolibar version offers. Polo shirts aren’t my son’s first choice for daily wear, so he chose t-shirts to wear when his collared shirt wasn’t required by the day’s dress code.
*There were also undergarments, including a set of long johns/base layers that doubled as pajamas, but my son has no commentary he’d like to add to the internet on the subject of men’s underwear.
A swimsuit was also included. Though he prefers the popular, knee-length, baggy board shorts everyone else is wearing around here, a somewhat briefer version was cheap on Amazon and packed much smaller than his old pair without provoking the teen horror of a fitted Speedo brief…
My son’s preference for short ankle socks packed up small (3 pairs), plus we carried three more pairs of taller, grey socks for colder days and dressier occasions where his ankles needed to be covered.
Icelanders expect you to follow the letter of their law when going for a swim: wash, naked, with soap before entering a public pool or hot tub.
I’m shocked by how many Americans post comments about washing first not being required at home. Actually, at my local YMCA in New England, a sign clearly states that “soap showers are required” before entering the pool.
It’s just that, at American pools, nobody enforces the law.
We have laws against jaywalking, too, but you’d never know it in most cities based upon enforcement.
Also, our instructional posters are plain English language ones without the helpful “red zone” graphics employed in Iceland.
Cell phone or camera use isn’t allowed in locker rooms thank God! so I’ll point you to others’ mysteriously captured photos for illustrations. Follow the links to pool etiquette articles, below.
Picture the typical men’s room sign “guy” infographic, then add big red circles glowing around head, armpits, groin, hands, and feet. Those are the parts it is mandatory to wash with soap before entering an Icelandic public swimming pool or hot tub.
I’m reinventing the wheel here, but it bears repeating again! since every Icelander seems to know that Americans (and Brits) arrive unprepared for proper Icelandic pool protocol. I read about a dozen “how to use a public pool in Iceland” posts myself, and yet, here I am reiterating much of the same advice.
Those posts helped me, so I hope to offer the same to another reader. Good travelers respect the places that they visit by following the rules.
Access for visitors with mild physical impairments to Icelandic pools
Another, perhaps less common, thing I want to address is accessibility in Icelandic public pool locker rooms.
I did find one blogger who writes about access from the perspective of a wheelchair user, but he only seemed to visit the swanky Blue Lagoon spa. For over $40 per person, it darn well better be fully accessible!
I was looking for an affordable, family-oriented experience more akin to what average Icelanders might enjoy with their own kids.
Also, my needs are far less intensive than those of a pool user who requires a lift (hoist) to access the water. I have arthritis and chronic pain due to an autoimmune condition. My accessibility needs are variable, but often minimal, and most relate to twisting and pushing with the hands.
Sometimes, however, hip or knee joint stiffness makes it hard for me to reach my own feet. Heck, I couldn’t get my arms high enough overhead (shoulder stiffness) for the requisite TSA scan when I departed from Boston the night before I visited my first Icelandic pool.
Some days, aside from morning stiffness in my fingers, I bend like a healthy person; other days, not so much. This is a big part of what drew me to the famous geothermal hot pots of Iceland during even a brief stopover.
When my joints are stiff, I’m also more prone to balance issues and potentially falling. My limbs don’t always respond the way I’m expecting to the commands sent from my brain.
I had questions before my first visit to a public pool in Iceland to which I couldn’t find answers online. I’ll try to enlighten those of you with similar concerns according to my own experience as an English speaking tourist with about two weeks’ experience in that country.
It’s not all that uncommon for me to give up my assigned seat to a stranger on a plane. I do it for couples, not just for children separated from mothers. I try to take actions that make the world a slightly better place.
I’ve been that mom flying alone with her kids, feeling more than a little desperate to keep them close to me. I’ve carefully selected seats only to have my plans disrupted by the airline when an equipment change erases all the previous selections.
On a recent Icelandair flight from KEF to BRU, I made a selfish choice. When the flight attendant asked me if I would give up my window seat for a child, I said, “No.”
Though I think my reasons were valid, I’m clearly carrying some guilt from that decision. I hate to make a child sad. I enjoy most kids, even on airplanes, and am more likely to help out another mom than glare when her baby kicks up a fuss.
Major exception: when your kid is kicking my seat, I am just one step away from being annoyed, and I will turn around and ask you to stop him or her. Apologetic and helpful parents defuse all of my frustration… unless the kid is old enough to be doing it on purpose and seems inclined to keep it up.
Children are free agents, no matter how hard we try to remain diligent. I police my own kids pretty hard in that regard because, as a traveler with chronic pain, I am being literal when I say, “I feel your pain!”
On a bad day, a rhythmic seat kicking is torture for me. I won’t yell at you or your kid, but I will expect you to do your best to stop the behavior.
And this segue brings us around to my primary motivation for saying no to another mother on Flight 554. I was already in pain.
I select window seats on flights most of the time because I want to get as far away as possible from the jostling at the aisle. Never mind a direct hit by the beverage cart, even a pair of average sized passengers passing in the aisle can result in a brush with my side that hurts. I’ve been smacked more than once by people carelessly removing bags from the overhead bin, too.
I’m sitting in a window seat because I like the view, but even more to avoid actual pain from accidental touch.
I think that alone is sufficient justification for turning down a fellow passenger, though it obviously still makes me feel bad.
In this case, it is also worth mentioning that this was a mother with three kids who looked to be preteens and above. The child in question was probably 12 or more, standing shoulder high to her mother. She didn’t look frightened or upset to be separated from her mom, she looked bored. She had headphones on and didn’t seem to be talking to her family members anyway.
I pointed out that the middle seat in our row was free, even closer to her family across the aisle than mine by the window. I held firm to the fact that I needed to stay where I was to avoid being bumped by other passengers.
I don’t know where the girl ended up sitting, but it wasn’t in my row, though the rest of the family stayed put across the aisle.
If a woman with a toddler had been standing in the aisle with pleading eyes, I would have moved before I even thought to protect my own fragile state. This was at the mere beginning of a two week trip, no less, when preserving my energy was really important.
Some people think it is always obnoxious for any passenger to ask another to give up a seat. Nonsense! The airlines are operating a virtual free-for-all of Darwinian proportions at 30,000 feet. It is easy for even an experienced traveler to end up separated from children who really aren’t in a good position to care for themselves.
Others suggest that families should always be accommodated. I wouldn’t go quite that far, but I do believe that commercial airlines should be compelled by law to seat children under about age 12 or anyone with significant special needs adjacent to a caregiver before charging average passengers for the privilege of seats that suck less.
Airlines should profit less on seat selection. It costs them nothing compared with serving food, say, is a pure profit opportunity, and yet it creates real stress for groups traveling together. Unless paying for a reserved seat is an ironclad guarantee that I’m going to get exactly the seat and amenities I’ve selected–read the fine print, it usually is not a guarantee of anything but a charge to your credit card–then the system is a scam.
As a mom, if I can’t sit by my teen, I think, “Gee, too bad.” Then I return to my book. It’s no big deal.
When the situation is placement of my younger child who gets motion sick and has allergies and asthma, I work a little harder for a more satisfactory resolution. I suggest that I must be at least within sight of him lest he struggle with his breathing, though that situation is thankfully very rare.
I also tell whomever he’s seated next to that they might want to keep a barf bag ready, just in case. Maybe it’s just my family, but my kids tend to vomit on the person next to them at least as often as they get sick on themselves!
I’m totally honest with other airline passengers: my son doesn’t always throw up on a flight. It isn’t even most trips by airplane. Then again, he has vomited more than once due to turbulence.
Most passengers and/or flight attendants work together to help a parent find a better solution for a child with that kind of need. Though why the hell any passenger ever has to get involved is part of what makes me angry with the airlines: this is their problem to solve. It doesn’t belong to the poor soul who thought she’d reserved her favorite type of seat and would get to sit in it. Nor can a hapless parent who travels occasionally be expected to navigate the Byzantine world of airline chicanery.
Filing a complaint? No doubt there will soon be a $25 fee for that, too.
As my “more complicated to travel with” son nears the end of elementary school, however, even his “interesting” issues are less of a concern to me than they were with younger children in tow.
At this point, the kid might manage by himself to barf into a bag on his lap; when he was five, that chance was zero. I’m honestly uncertain as to what he would do with said bag once it was full of vomit unless I was there next to him to take it off his hands.
Parents should sit with their kids because this stuff happens, and no one cares as much as a child’s own parent. The parent isn’t trying to offload any responsibilities to other poorly placed passengers. Airline policies are simply inhumane and short-sighted.
It is patently obvious that this is not a black and white situation, but a matter of multiple shades of grey. Like most of life, actually, including whether or not a relatively nice person such as myself, a caring mother and lover of children, gives up her window seat to humor a pre-teen.
This time, I didn’t, but my conscious is clear. Well, mostly. After all, I did take the time to write this piece.
Spring Break is winding up in our neck of the woods, and it brings up a pet peeve I’ve written about before: messages in popular culture that suggest children are an annoyance, or a burden, more than integral parts of our families and society.
Of course, I understand that a week at home with kids one usually sends off to school candisrupt orderly routines. It requires scrambling for babysitters or fun activities to fill unaccustomed hours. That presents an element of inconvenience, especially for those who can’t take the same days off of work to spend time relaxing with the freed children.
The disconnect between today’s school calendars and the dual working parent/single parent households that make up most American families doesn’t make the children themselves the problem.
Try to find a moment to tell your kids so, even if you think they’ll roll their eyes or believe you’ve gone batty. It’s good for them to hear it said.
It’s good for us to say it, too.
It’s easy to get caught up in life’s buffeting winds of distractions and disappointments. Kids are beholden to us adults for everything: shelter, food, toys, and a sense of where they stand in the world. Don’t forget that last bit in the struggle to optimize the tangible needs.
I tell my kids I love them, but I also say how much I like them for who they are, no matter how different from me, and even when* those differences cause us to disagree.
They’ve heard me get angry at “back to school” sale ads that suggest parents rejoice once the brats are out of their hair. I reject those offensive notions, and I tell my kids so. Kids deserve better than that, just because they’re human beings, and even when their vacation weeks disrupt our schedules.
Spring Break this year at our house did include my sending them out to dinner and a movie with Grandma so that a group of moms could join me for a ladies’ literature evening. I know I’m fortunate to have willing family members available to give me a few hours off; I’m grateful for that.
My mom did bring our young friend, The Scholar†, along for the evening together with my boys. Since The Scholar’s mother wouldn’t have been able to attend otherwise, this was a gracious favor on Mom’s part.
That brings up one other option for showing kids during school breaks that they are valued by caring adults: make the offer to help another parent fill some of those hours if you’ve got a bit more bandwidth free.
Children thrive when a variety of adults show them consideration and make time for them. Society thrives when all of our children are well cared for.
I’m not sure it’s the village that matters; I think it’s all about the tribe.
It’s amazing how tiny an effort can make the world a better place for someone else. I live in certainty that every child deserves at least that much.
*Not so much during a fight, say, do I remember to be so gracious, but I try to get the message across the rest of the time, so the good things overwhelm family squabbles. I’m no saint!
**She’s another home educated child whom I tutor in math because my talents differ from those of her mother.
I never use one word when one thousand will do, so, naturally, I will elaborate.
As if winter’s lingering darkness and New England’s coldest temperatures in years weren’t enough, we have to add widespread influenza infection to the list of legitimate complaints for still nascent 2018.
If my local children’s librarian* is to be believed, our corner of our state is the hardest hit in the area with this more-severe-than-average flu.
My situation isn’t even so bad. We are a house divided: only one of us has flu. I’m hunkering down with the sick one while DH keeps his distance and manages the healthy one. They leave us trays of food outside the door and occasionally send word about the outside world.
The good news is that we have space enough to almost completely quarantine the sick kid. He hasn’t been downstairs for several days. Our over-the-top 1980s house came complete with a wet bar in the spacious master bedroom; between the mini fridge and the microwave, I can cover most of our needs without venturing forth myself.
We’re also lucky that the vicious cold spell is over. I can crack a window for ventilation between the child’s Petri dish of a nest and my frequently wiped down seat on the other side of the room. He isn’t lonely, and I haven’t caught the Plague yet. The separate heating zone for this room also assuages some of my guilt about sending so much heat literally out the window.
The bad news is that it’s the kid with the underlying condition making flu particularly dangerous that caught it.**
The doctor didn’t even want me to bring him in, citing the risk of exposure for others. He called in a prescription for Tamiflu and told me to plan on spending four to five days at home. The drug is the best thing medicine has got for reducing flu symptoms, but it only knocks half a day or so off the illness’s expected duration.
Since the only side effect we’ve noticed is mild nausea and the evidence suggests Tamiflu reduces my son’s risk of hospitalization, I have no regrets about following this course of action.
An interesting aside: my husband’s doctor recommended getting the nasal swab flu test, but the pediatrician did not want to risk exposing others at a medical facility. DH’s internist would also have prescribed Tamiflu as a preventative to the rest of our household. The pediatrician did ask if my other son needed an Rx, too, but didn’t suggest Tamiflu for the adults.
We generally prefer to avoid taking drugs until they are absolutely necessary, so none of the rest of us are taking antiviral medication, but I found the variety of approaches interesting.
I should add here that, though I have a chronic illness, I am not considered immunocompromised at this point. If I were, I would take the Tamiflu without argument; as it is, I will play the odds.
We’ve increased the dosage on my son’s usual meds as directed, and I know the danger signs of severe illness for which I should watch, but the primary treatment for my sick kid is the same as for the rest of us unlucky enough to catch the flu: plenty of fluids and lots of rest at home.
I’m keeping myself sane by the following means:
Alphabears app on my iPad ~ the best word game I’ve played since my paid version of Bookworm stopped being supported after wretched EA bought innovative game developer PopCap.
Skullduggery Pleasant audiobooks ~ a great story that amuses both mom and child in the sickroom, but my older son had to jump through hoops to get the later books since they were only released in the UK. Read what you can get your hands on here in the USA, then agitate for the rest of Derek Landy’s series to be readily available where ever it is wanted.
Refining my packing list—and taking photos of same—for an upcoming trip that I will blog about after the fact ~ if you see better than usual pics after my next big adventure, you can thank 100 hours or so of enforced idleness wherein the closet became a welcome break from the monotony of the bedroom.
Wiping down doorknobs, light switches, and remote controls with disinfectant ~ okay, so that one isn’t so much fun as functional, but it does keep my brain occupied. “What did the child touch?” Right. Just about everything. Sigh.
Stay healthy, dear readers!
Wash yours hands often, or use hand sanitizer. Humidify your air if it approaches arid arctic conditions. The influenza virus is weakened at normal to high humidity levels aim for 50% RH***, and simple soap and water or the alcohol in sanitizer are sufficient to deactivate it on your skin before you transfer it to your vulnerable mucus membranes (i.e., nose and mouth, where the virus usually gets in.)
And if you do get sick with the flu, please, stay home until you’re no longer contagious.
If you’re not willing or able to do that, your best clues are:
sudden onset of symptoms,
severity of symptoms, and
presence of a fever.
When in doubt, stay home while sick. You are most contagious during the first few days with influenza.
If you have flu, you are spraying a cloud of virus into the surrounding environment with every breath. The person standing next to you could have a compromised immune system or a preemie at home.
Keep your germs to yourself. Let’s all work together so that this flu season winds down soon.
*I didn’t ask if she’d used her librarian superpowers to find out this fact, or the same gossip mere mortals employ to assess epidemic illness trends, so that might just be hearsay. As it served my preexisting notions, I just assumed she was correct.
**When I called his school to let them know he would be out sick, I learned that several other children from his class had the same symptoms. Ah, children. They’re the cutest little vectors for disease.
If I hadn’t purchased a Bluetooth keyboard, this blog would have about 30% of its current content. My preferred portable input device is a Logitech K780 model.
I bought mine from Amazon about a year ago when I began writing regularly for my blog. I quickly realized that hand discomfort was my limiting factor for writing long form content away from my desk with an iPad. I paid $75 then; today’s price is several dollars less.
My Logitech K780 keyboard in use on a lap desk
The dedicated keys for switching almost instantaneously between three devices are a major factor in my enjoyment of this particular keyboard. Those are the three white keys at the upper left of the K780 in the photo above.
Because I experience arthritis pain and stiffness in my fingers and wrists, tapping on a touchscreen while holding a device can be difficult, excruciating, or even impossible.
If I have my keyboard out, I use it to enter even short, simple text messages into my Android Blu R1 phone. Using the Logitech K780 is that much more comfortable for me.
Slim, but for the hump
Number pad: a nerd necessity
Two other functions made the K780 the best keyboard for me:
I prefer a keyboard with a numeric keypad for efficient data entry, and
the indented slot simultaneously holds phones and tablets in place while I work.
That first one won’t matter to many users. If you don’t use the number pad on your current keyboard often or ever!, then by all means choose a smaller, lighter Bluetooth keyboard for your use on the go.*
Logitech offers the K380 model which has one touch device switching, like my K780, but without the built-in stand, or the K480, with stand, but using a fussy-looking dial instead of a keystroke to change devices. I haven’t tried either of those.
The little ledge that holds a device, however, will likely appeal to many users. Imagine a small, parallelogram-shaped valley parallel to your top row of keyboard keys, and you’ll have the form of this feature on the Logitech K780. It works well, supporting even a full sized iPad without a wobble on flat surfaces.
What makes this work exceedingly well for me is the full width keyboard (remember that numeric pad!) that leaves room for an iPad Pro—inside its thin, folio style case—as well as two cell phones. Not only can I swap which device I desire to control in an instant with the press of a physical button, but I also have that same device in view without juggling electronics.
Because we’ve talked about how well I juggle these days, right? My arthritis makes me drop things frequently as well as causing pain.
Actually, I won’t presume to know why anyone else reads a classic novel.*
Having long since passed the stage of life wherein, to quote the Indigo Girls song “Closer to Fine:”
…I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind
Got my paper and I was free
Very much in spite of much of the bureaucratic process we call schooling, but with deep regard for the great investment of time and energy—of inestimable value!—into the bettering of my mind by more than my fair share of gifted teachers, I remain a student, if not a scholar, and a committed autodidact.
For this reason—and because I suffer from an oscillation between stultifying malaise and desperate, yearning agitation when I don’t have a good book at hand, preferably with a few more queued up—I read and re-read the classics.
Last month, I embarked upon the reading of W. Somerset Maugham‘s hefty tome,Of Human Bondage.
The wholly inadequate summary of the novel in the library catalogue says:
“The story of a deformed youth whose handicap causes loneliness.”
I would laugh if such a shallow skimming over of the depth of this story didn’t leave me wanting to sob. It’s almost a caricature of the isolation and lack of understanding that torments Phillip, Of Human Bondage‘s orphaned protagonist, during his youth.
With little interest in literary criticism, let me come directly to what moved me so deeply as I worked my way—slowly, because it deserved thorough attention—through this weighty novel:
Phillip needed a caregiver.
He really could have used a mother. He flailed because being orphaned left him to learn for himself what most of us are taught by even mediocre parents.
He was born with a less than stellar internal compass for interpreting the giving and receiving of any kind of love. He wasn’t what we might call today a “people person.” He was one of those kids who most need explicit help to interpret the social world, and take a full role within it.
Reading Of Human Bondage made the importance of the part I can play in my sons’ lives more unequivocal to me than ever before. I should be mature enough not to doubt it; I remain insecure enough that I do.
I’m grateful that I didn’t read Maugham’s masterpiece as a student.
I’ve learned over the years that more gifts can lead to less joy, at least for my little not so little boys. Spacing out the individual presents helps, and so does avoiding too many extravagant gifts at the same holiday.
This has been one of my hardest parenting lessons to internalize: don’t overwhelm the kids with gifts that attempt to quantify your infinite love.
You’ll spoil them.
Your house will overflow with stuff at a cost far exceeding its value.
I like to make our Eight Nights of Hanukkah Gifts things that we can enjoy as a family. I also try to alternate bigger impact gifts with simpler pleasures, and spread out amongst all eight nights the presents I believe will most please different members of the family.
Yes, that’s right: I had a plan all along. Could anyone who knows me think I just wrapped this stuff up and grabbed boxes at random to throw at my family? There’s a spreadsheet, of course. It’s all about the pacing.
Night seven was one for simple pleasures, and enjoying what we’ve already got.
The boys opened two boxes of additional Lego train tracks (Flexible & Straight Set 7499 and Switching Tracks Set 7895) for our Winter Holiday Train and its Station. You’ll want to begin with Nights 1 and 2 to hear more about those.
We spent the rest of the evening building circuits and inventing ridiculous scenarios for the minifigs and trains on the table.
What’s she up to? No good!
I thought about providing the track right after the train, but this seemed to be a better plan. For one thing, we often but not always get a set built in one evening. Why rush the extra track onto the scene if the train wasn’t ready to roll?
More importantly, my little guy has had several days of marveling over the Station’s details and pushing the train up to the platform on its simple loop of track. Each time he immersed himself in the scene, he became more aware of how much he would enjoy expanding it and connecting it to another part of his imaginary world.
He’s been musing to himself for a few evenings:
“Wouldn’t it be cool to have a track that led to…”
Now, he can make that happen, and he’s ready to put in the effort to make it happen with no other distractions for the evening. The boys even dug into our existing Lego sets and pulled out an older, motorized train Grandma bought for a Christmas past.
This led inexorably to the aggressive shunting of steam engine and holiday trucks by a Diesel locomotive. Shades of the Island of Sodor, anyone? If you don’t get the reference, commence reading the Reverend Awdry’s Thomas the Tank Engine immediately.
Switches make the train go ’round.
“We’ve been waiting since Tuesday”
A few pieces of track don’t make an extravagant gifteven at Lego prices, but today it has an immediate value to my younger, somewhat more materialistic son.† He also receives the gift of a modest object that gratifies his imagination above all else.
Too many toys are too easily forgotten in the chaos of more, more, more. The right accessory on Night 7 served to reignite all the excitement from those first, bigger gifts.
At least, that was my nefarious plan, which will be discovered if my kids start reading my blog.
Stay tuned for the final night of Hanukkah, Night 8.
†The big kid just loves to build. He always sees the value in a gift of parts to expand on a modular set. The trick with him—and, it must be noted, with Mommy—is to remind him to graciously allow the younger child to assemble some tracks and learn for himself why symmetry and careful planning are so important when it comes to engineering a system of moving parts.
We didn’t mean to make the little guy cry! Sigh. And, eventually, he did get to play, too.
Pictured here is my husband’s favorite sweet. It’s a Russian candy our family calls “Moo.” Yes, like the sound a cow makes. My husband only likes the brands with polka dots on the wrappers.
It appears he isn’t the only one who yearns for cow candy to bring back memories of childhood and the act of chewing his cud?
I took this pretty picture of candy he received on Halloween because I knew it would be consumed immediately. While I don’t like the stuff at all, my sons have inherited their father’s fondness for this “milk caramel” or “gentle fudge” as I’ve found it translated online.
The candy is called “karovka,” which is the Russian word for cow. More specifically, it’s the diminutive word for “cow” in the Russian language. The Russians are masters of the diminutive!
Like Smurf-ette from Smurf, “karovka” implies a cute, dainty cow, not a regular old karova (корова), which might be a common dairy cow, or, God forbid!, a karovisha (коровище) which would be a gross, overwhelming cow-ishness!*
I knew a girl in college who was called Mary Moo.
When I met her as a wide-eyed froshling, I thought people were calling her “Mary μ,” with μ (mu) being a lowercase letter in the Greek alphabet. Its uppercase corollary, Μ, should be very familiar to all of us Westerners using a Roman alphabet. This casual use of Greek letters seemed very collegiate to my naive self.
Having just done the section in our Physics book about friction**, I felt very cool to have a new friend with a μ in her name. It turns out she was merely a vegetarian with rather bad manners who had often quite literally moo-ed at people while they ate meat in the dining hall the year before.
I learned the first of many lessons about the true nature of intellectual life at even a highly rated liberal arts college that day.
Now, as for candy, I’ll return to my starting point: the sweet memories of childhood. My husband loved karovka; I find myself reminiscing about the taste of sesame-honey candy.
One of my earliest memories of sweets is a sesame confection my mother would allow me to buy at our local, small city grocery store. A search online today tells me it was almost definitely a Greek delicacy, pasteli (παστέλι.)
I’m not sure I knew any Greek people as a child in our city. I wonder if the candy was there at the supermarket because its simple ingredients appealed to hippies (who lingered in Oregon long after they’d been supplanted by yuppies elsewhere), or if this is yet another Greek creation co-opted by the rest of the civilized world?
I’m almost positive that my mother was attempting to give me the most nutritious sweet possible without actually denying me a treat. In the 1970’s, when I was a tot, honey would have seemed a far cry from sugar. And with all those sesame seeds in the recipe? Pasteli is practically health food!
When Halloween comes around, I’m confronted in the sweetest possible way with all that’s different for my kids, here and now, and all that’s the same. My birthplace may be nearer than their father’s, but it’s still thousands of miles away.
The kids said, “Neener, neener, neener” to mock each other where I grew up; here, they tease each other with “Nana nana boo boo!” Don’t even get me started on how silly that taunt sounds to my West Coast ears.
People shop with carriages instead of carts. We get a driver’s license from the Registry of Motor Vehicles instead of the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles.) My kids are growing up in a Commonwealth, not a State.
But here’s the sweeter side of these differences.
When I was a girl in the 1980’s, I sincerely believed that the USA and the USSR would destroy each other in a nuclear Armageddon. I worried about this. I lost sleep over it.
Sting released his song “Russians” in 1985. The lyrics always haunted me. They include these lines:
“We share the same biology/
Regardless of ideology/
What might save us, me and you/
Is if the Russians love their children too”
Politics are more polarized than ever. Our fears may have shifted from the Communists to the Terrorists, but it is still fear being peddled.
What has changed for my personal understanding of the scenario is the now constant awareness of the fact that, yes, the Russians did love their children, too.
They still do, and they always will. Just like we Americans love our kids, as do the Greeks, together with every other healthy human parent on the planet.
How sweet that is!
*Note that a native speaker of Russian says this would be a highly unusual word to encounter under normal circumstances. If it isn’t obvious to you yet, you should not be looking to me for guidance in correct use of the Russian language. I really enjoy this notion of turning words from diminutives into… what’s the opposite of a diminutive? I’ll go with grotesqueries.†I find them great fun.
†And now even my footnotes have footnotes. I had to look it up. The opposite of a diminutive is, naturally, an augmentative. Read more on Wikipedia if, like me, you must.