We’ve been counting down to summer for about a month. Not the official, middle of June, longest-day-of-the-year-summer, but a kid’s summer: stay up late, sleep in, play all day with a backyard full of boys Summer. It begins the day after the last day of school, and this year, although not in school himself, Brisco has been in charge of officially counting it down.
To him, summer means going to the beach, swimming at Grandma’s, late night ballgames, and having his big brother home all day long. Mornings are brighter because no one has gotten up and gone to school, and more days than not, he’ll get a made-to-order breakfast, courtesy of “Daddy-O,” his new nickname for the chief-breakfast-cooker at our house. No wonder he’s been counting it down.
The most exciting part of Cooper’s new-found freedom has been staying up past his 8:30 bedtime and catching the end of his nightly ballgame of choice. Much better than having to wait and see how it ended the following morning on the highlights.
Of course a mom knows it’s summer by the slamming of the screen door, the piles of dirt-caked shoes that accumulate in the entry, and the endless quest for that perfect recipe of homemade ice cream. But perhaps the most tell-tale sign that summer is here are the extra faces that show up in the backyard, with or without a glove, ready for a game of baseball.
Why, just today, less than a full week from the final ringing of those school bells, there were five little boys batting balls and rounding bases in the blowing dust and hot, early morning summertime air. And tomorrow there will be just as many, or more, eating buttery, grilled cheese sandwiches and pretzels dipped in mustard or cleaning out the fruit bowl or sharing a two liter of pop someone grabbed as they walked out the door of their home, on their way to ours.
I smiled, watching them just being boys, as the carefree feeling of being young tickled at my memory. It was just enough to make me look away while they chewed with their mouths full and spilled drinks at the table. It was enough to make me close my ears to talk of bloody bear bites and 100 ways to die and explaining to the youngest of the bunch what it means to “let one rip”.
Yes, there are so many reasons to love summer, and our boys are slowly discovering each and every one. From swimming and slushies to fishing and flip flops there’s a whole world of summertime fun just knocking on our back door. And they’re all bringing friends.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Lessons on home
I recently enjoyed a long overdue get together with an old high school friend and her family in South Carolina. I’d planned on taking Brisco along, and as I began trying to pick the travel dates, I wondered how we would fit it in, between ballgames and banquets and special editions. As it turned out, we missed a little of all three. But the time we spent with my friend and her family was well worth it. And the joy of having my newly-discovered traveling buddy at my side brought a week’s worth of cherished memories and a few simple lessons on home.
As the countdown for our departure began, Brisco was clearly anticipating his first ride in an airplane. “I’m really excited to ride in an airplane!” he would say in such a grown up manner that it caught me off guard each time he said it. And while his enthusiasm about our means of getting there was apparent, mine was tentative, praying he’d turn into the little angel that always seems to be hiding just beneath his cherub-like face.
As it turned out, I had little reason to worry. My boy was almost as grown up about his experience as his mom, buckling his own seat belt, keeping himself entertained, and carefully following the captain’s orders. Lesson One: Away from home, even the youngest in the family can behave like the oldest.
Right off the bat, Brisco became buddies with my friend‘s children. With two girls and two boys ranging from ages two to thirteen, he had his pick of the best of both worlds. From bubbles and baseball to hop scotch and hula hoops, every day was an adventure. Lesson Two: Five kids in one house means there’s always someone to play with.
Every adventure, however, doesn’t always have a happy ending. Brisco learned this the hard way (which is his nature) when he attempted to teach Beckett, the two year old, how to “arm bat” a 12 inch beach ball inside the house. Lesson Three: There is a reason most kids are not allowed to play ball in the house. Unfortunately for the picture frame, he learned this lesson a split second too late.
Lesson Four: Having sisters means not blowing your nose in the kiddie pool.
As much fun as Brisco was having in “Souff Carolina”, he woke up on the last day bright eyed and said, “Are we going on the airplane today?” It seemed my boy might be ready to go home. And while he was missing his dad, his brother, his house and his back yard, when it came time to tell his new friends goodbye, there wasn’t a dry eye in the bunch. Lesson Five: Saying goodbye is always hard, even when you’re excited about where you’re going.
When we first started planning this trip, I wasn’t sure how Brisco would fare in someone else’s home. He’s a kid, after all, and all boy at that. But in our time away, I discovered that someone else’s home really isn’t that much different from our own. And after four days and nights of friendship and fun, the lessons we learned are ones that will remind us of why we went in the first place.
Relationships are the most powerful forces in the universe. Anyone who doubts that should watch a four year old shed tears over leaving a family he met only days earlier. Lessons on home are lessons on life, and the most important ones, I watched my son learn first hand: that home is really about the people, not the place; that a heart can be pulled both to go and to stay; and that a person can feel at home, even when their own is miles away.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
As the countdown for our departure began, Brisco was clearly anticipating his first ride in an airplane. “I’m really excited to ride in an airplane!” he would say in such a grown up manner that it caught me off guard each time he said it. And while his enthusiasm about our means of getting there was apparent, mine was tentative, praying he’d turn into the little angel that always seems to be hiding just beneath his cherub-like face.
As it turned out, I had little reason to worry. My boy was almost as grown up about his experience as his mom, buckling his own seat belt, keeping himself entertained, and carefully following the captain’s orders. Lesson One: Away from home, even the youngest in the family can behave like the oldest.
Right off the bat, Brisco became buddies with my friend‘s children. With two girls and two boys ranging from ages two to thirteen, he had his pick of the best of both worlds. From bubbles and baseball to hop scotch and hula hoops, every day was an adventure. Lesson Two: Five kids in one house means there’s always someone to play with.
Every adventure, however, doesn’t always have a happy ending. Brisco learned this the hard way (which is his nature) when he attempted to teach Beckett, the two year old, how to “arm bat” a 12 inch beach ball inside the house. Lesson Three: There is a reason most kids are not allowed to play ball in the house. Unfortunately for the picture frame, he learned this lesson a split second too late.
Lesson Four: Having sisters means not blowing your nose in the kiddie pool.
As much fun as Brisco was having in “Souff Carolina”, he woke up on the last day bright eyed and said, “Are we going on the airplane today?” It seemed my boy might be ready to go home. And while he was missing his dad, his brother, his house and his back yard, when it came time to tell his new friends goodbye, there wasn’t a dry eye in the bunch. Lesson Five: Saying goodbye is always hard, even when you’re excited about where you’re going.
When we first started planning this trip, I wasn’t sure how Brisco would fare in someone else’s home. He’s a kid, after all, and all boy at that. But in our time away, I discovered that someone else’s home really isn’t that much different from our own. And after four days and nights of friendship and fun, the lessons we learned are ones that will remind us of why we went in the first place.
Relationships are the most powerful forces in the universe. Anyone who doubts that should watch a four year old shed tears over leaving a family he met only days earlier. Lessons on home are lessons on life, and the most important ones, I watched my son learn first hand: that home is really about the people, not the place; that a heart can be pulled both to go and to stay; and that a person can feel at home, even when their own is miles away.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Have faith
Some of the most meaningful lessons in life can come from the most unexpected experiences. Take a student’s choice of activities while in school. Whether it’s athletics, agriculture or preparing to be a leader of tomorrow, these events and activities teach our kids something that no lecture or textbook ever could. Things like loyalty, teamwork, and faith. Yes, they may consume our time, but if there’s any doubt that it is time well spent, just ask our five year old what a week at the state tournament has taught him.
I knew the days of traveling and late nights might get a little hard for the boys, so as we prepared for four days of competitive action, I tried to take their minds off the miles we had left to drive and focus their thoughts on all things good, keeping karma on our side for one more week.
We talked about the state tournament and exactly what it means, and why it’s any different from any other tournament we play.
“Do we get a trophy?” Cooper asked, already concerned about collecting more hardware.
“If we win three games, the boys will get a trophy,” I said, and he seemed to be dreaming of another gold medal for his collection.
Then he asked, “Who do we play?”
“Sterling” was my reply, and I could almost see the life draining out of his dream. Immediately, he said, “We’re gonna lose.”
Shocked at his response, I said, “What? Are you crazy? Why would you say that?”
“Because they always beat us,” he said in dismay.
It’s true, Sterling had had their way with us several times in the past year or so, and I suppose it had left a bad taste in this little boy’s mouth, but I couldn’t stand his defeatist attitude.
“Come on, Cooper! You gotta have faith!” But I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t hearing that catchy guitar strum from the late ‘80’s pop tune playing in his head like I was. To him, those words meant nothing.
“Have faith, you know. Believe in your team! Believe in your coach! Know that we can do it!”
Still, the kid wasn’t buying it. And it wasn’t until the end of a 14 hour day, and three incredible softball games, that he had his first living example of just what that phrase might mean.
With two outs and two on in the bottom of the seventh inning, against the number one team that few thought could be beaten, I sat on that cool, metal bleacher and whispered in our boy’s ear. “Watch, now. Only one more out.” And about that time, a liner hit strait to the outfield was caught, and the celebration began.
“See that, Coop? See how happy they are? They just beat a team nobody thought they could beat. But they did it. That is why you’ve got to have faith.”
I could tell the experience really got him thinking, but still, it was Sterling and boy, does losing make a lasting impression on this child.
So when we made the drive back to the city two days later, I asked him on the way, “Well, how are you feeling about Daddy’s game?”
“When do we play if we lose?” he asked, giving concession to his still-doubting thoughts.
“We don’t.“ I reminded him. “If we lose, we go home. But remember, you’ve gotta have faith, right?” He looked at me with his brown eyes wide and his brow slightly furrowed. I could see the puzzlement on his face, so I decided to take another route.
“Think about it like this: Do you believe that God is real and that he made us and the world and that he loves us and is always watching over us and keeping us safe?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Even though you can’t see him?” I asked again.
“Yes,” again, without delay.
“Well, that’s faith! You believe in something even though you may not understand why or how. You believe in something even though other people may not. You have faith, even when something seems impossible.”
Not sure I’d done any good at all, and frankly a little afraid I might have just given my kid several reasons to ask a whole realm of questions I’m not really prepared or equipped to answer, I said a little prayer of my own, having faith that my timing was on for this ever important lesson to be brought to life through the efforts of 13 boys, a coach, and a game of baseball.
And sure enough, a half-pound of sunflower seeds, four chewed cuticles, a hoarse voice, and a raw tongue later, at the end of the longest seven-inning game I’ve ever nervously attended, I had the sheer joy of sitting next to our son and whispering in his ear.
“See that?” I said as we watched the celebration. “That is why we play ball all year long--to earn the right to play here, these three days, in the state tournament. To win a game like this, that nobody thought we could win against a team that nobody thought we could beat.”
He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Momma. We just beat Sterling.”
“That’s right, Buddy. I never doubted it for a minute.”
“Yep. You just gotta have faith!” he said.
I couldn’t have sung it better myself.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
I knew the days of traveling and late nights might get a little hard for the boys, so as we prepared for four days of competitive action, I tried to take their minds off the miles we had left to drive and focus their thoughts on all things good, keeping karma on our side for one more week.
We talked about the state tournament and exactly what it means, and why it’s any different from any other tournament we play.
“Do we get a trophy?” Cooper asked, already concerned about collecting more hardware.
“If we win three games, the boys will get a trophy,” I said, and he seemed to be dreaming of another gold medal for his collection.
Then he asked, “Who do we play?”
“Sterling” was my reply, and I could almost see the life draining out of his dream. Immediately, he said, “We’re gonna lose.”
Shocked at his response, I said, “What? Are you crazy? Why would you say that?”
“Because they always beat us,” he said in dismay.
It’s true, Sterling had had their way with us several times in the past year or so, and I suppose it had left a bad taste in this little boy’s mouth, but I couldn’t stand his defeatist attitude.
“Come on, Cooper! You gotta have faith!” But I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t hearing that catchy guitar strum from the late ‘80’s pop tune playing in his head like I was. To him, those words meant nothing.
“Have faith, you know. Believe in your team! Believe in your coach! Know that we can do it!”
Still, the kid wasn’t buying it. And it wasn’t until the end of a 14 hour day, and three incredible softball games, that he had his first living example of just what that phrase might mean.
With two outs and two on in the bottom of the seventh inning, against the number one team that few thought could be beaten, I sat on that cool, metal bleacher and whispered in our boy’s ear. “Watch, now. Only one more out.” And about that time, a liner hit strait to the outfield was caught, and the celebration began.
“See that, Coop? See how happy they are? They just beat a team nobody thought they could beat. But they did it. That is why you’ve got to have faith.”
I could tell the experience really got him thinking, but still, it was Sterling and boy, does losing make a lasting impression on this child.
So when we made the drive back to the city two days later, I asked him on the way, “Well, how are you feeling about Daddy’s game?”
“When do we play if we lose?” he asked, giving concession to his still-doubting thoughts.
“We don’t.“ I reminded him. “If we lose, we go home. But remember, you’ve gotta have faith, right?” He looked at me with his brown eyes wide and his brow slightly furrowed. I could see the puzzlement on his face, so I decided to take another route.
“Think about it like this: Do you believe that God is real and that he made us and the world and that he loves us and is always watching over us and keeping us safe?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Even though you can’t see him?” I asked again.
“Yes,” again, without delay.
“Well, that’s faith! You believe in something even though you may not understand why or how. You believe in something even though other people may not. You have faith, even when something seems impossible.”
Not sure I’d done any good at all, and frankly a little afraid I might have just given my kid several reasons to ask a whole realm of questions I’m not really prepared or equipped to answer, I said a little prayer of my own, having faith that my timing was on for this ever important lesson to be brought to life through the efforts of 13 boys, a coach, and a game of baseball.
And sure enough, a half-pound of sunflower seeds, four chewed cuticles, a hoarse voice, and a raw tongue later, at the end of the longest seven-inning game I’ve ever nervously attended, I had the sheer joy of sitting next to our son and whispering in his ear.
“See that?” I said as we watched the celebration. “That is why we play ball all year long--to earn the right to play here, these three days, in the state tournament. To win a game like this, that nobody thought we could win against a team that nobody thought we could beat.”
He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Momma. We just beat Sterling.”
“That’s right, Buddy. I never doubted it for a minute.”
“Yep. You just gotta have faith!” he said.
I couldn’t have sung it better myself.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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