The Umpire

Kids love to play games. And I have found that they will play pretty much anything you lay in front of them, especially if you play with them. At our house, unavoidably but unanimously, the favored game is baseball.

When our first son was born, I was still working as a principal. His due date was the week prior to our school’s fall break, but when it was time for fall to break and my water hadn’t, it seemed far too convenient and too far past time for that baby to arrive. The doctor felt it was safe to induce, so that’s what we did. It wasn’t until I spoke to my Uncle Max some time later that I learned the day we had chosen to give birth to our little slugger was also the birthday of Mickey Mantle.

Seventeen months later, thanks to a God with a great sense of humor, we were blessed with our second little ball player destined for pinstripes, who we gave the middle name Berra, after the one and only. Clearly, the drugs had not worn off, and it was only two weeks til opening day, and hey, God isn’t the only one with a sense of humor.

So there we had them: Mickey and Yogi. And now that they are a little older you can bet they love to play ball. The interesting thing about watching toddlers play ball: they do it just like adults. Their coordination may not be fully developed; they may not be able to correctly articulate the names of all the positions, but they know their roles. And they very seldom change.

I’m not sure how he made his lineup or what made him decide who was to play which position. I assume he connected pieces of various conversations he has overheard throughout his lifetime because of the strangely appropriateness of each person’s role. However he did it, you can bet “Mickey” is in charge when it comes to yard ball at our house. He has deemed himself “all-time hitter”, and he doesn’t like to share his bat. Dad is the pitcher, Yogi is the catcher (of course), and I—well, I am the “humpfire”.

Random objects are instantly transformed into a prized collection of hand-carved Louisville Sluggers: from a toy cattle trailer to an empty ice cream bucket, if it can be swung through the air, it can be used as a bat. Tennis shoes and blue jeans are scrubbed and mended from practicing the perfect slide. Hours and hours are spent playing catch in the yard—or in the middle of the living room—and that’s ok, because baseball is about teamwork. What better lesson could a couple of kids begin learning? They’ve got a lifetime of it in front of them.

Yes, life at our house is like the game of baseball: lots of cuts, pitching that is right down the middle, and even a few strike outs now and then. We each have our own position to play and—at least for now—I’m the “humpfire”.

And that’s “All in a day’s work”.

~ Tough Love vs. Spanking ~

(a psychological conundrum)

Most of America's populace think it improper to spank children, so I have tried other methods to control my kids when they have one of "those moments." One that I found effective for me is to just take my child for a car ride and talk. He usually calms down and stops misbehaving after our car ride together. I've included a photo below of one of my sessions with my son, in case you would like to use the technique. I hope it works for you as well as it has worked for me.

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(This was sent to me in an e-mail by a friend and fellow mother of two boys. I do not know where it originated or by whom it was written. But isn't it a great idea?!)

All in a Day's Work: Tales from the Crib

After being a high school alternative education principal for six years, I thought I could handle anything. I was used to going to work and taking care of 150 teenagers who belonged to someone else. I figured if I could manage all the challenging situations my students threw at me, staying home with my own kids would be heaven. Surely I could handle just two kids—both under the age of two—who were my own, right?
Well, in just a few short months, I’ve gone from exhaustion to exhilaration to insanity and back! I have always believed that life is one of our best teachers. But sometimes when life changes, so do the lessons we learn from it. Since I have chosen Experience as my newest teacher, I had no choice but to revamp some of the old lessons I learned as an educator and apply them to the life I now have as a mom.
Lesson One: There is no union. After teaching in a school district with a tough, fight-for-your-rights teachers’ union, I was under the impression, mistakenly of course, that I, too, had rights. I quickly learned that as a mom, that part of the Constitution simply does not apply. From telephone calls to bathroom breaks to intellectual conversations with other adults—it simply isn’t in the contract.
Lesson Two: Create your own planning period. As a principal, I sometimes heard teachers say that if they just had a little more time to plan, their jobs as teachers would be much easier. As a mom, I am now the one shrieking, “Where’s my planning period?!” Oh, for the days when I had a solid hour to do nothing but think about goals, expectations, and outcomes. Just think of what amazing little honor-roll toddlers I could create!
Lesson Three: There is no dismissal bell. Each day—after working my way through the imaginary lesson plan, providing breakfast, lunch, supper, half dozen snacks (and 12 sippy cups), monitoring their play, redirecting their attention (at least 100 times), and disciplining til my hand hurts—at the end of the day, there is no 3:00 bell. They’re mine; daylight til dark, awake or asleep, in sickness and in health, til death do us part—or at least until I can get a sitter.
Some days I think, “Did I actually apply for this overworked, underpaid, no-rights-all-responsibility position?” Then a little 12 month old will crawl up in my lap and give me one of those toothless, slobbery grins that melts my exhaustion away. Or out of the blue and for no reason at all a two and a half year old will say, “Hey Mom, you’re a good mom.” Now that’s what I call job satisfaction.
So, to those who are new parents, or those who once were and have regained enough sanity to tell about it, I know that you will either find comfort in the thought that you are not alone, or you will laugh at my tales in remembrance of your own. Because regardless of the hours, the pay or the prestige, it’s All in a day’s work, and it’s worth it!