Brisco, at 8 a.m.: Mom, can I have a popsicle?
Me: Brisco, it’s 8 a.m.
Brisco: Mom, when you loose all your teeth, will you die?
Me: No.
Brisco: Will you get new teeth?
Me: Yes.
Brisco: Will you die when you are, like, a hundred?
Me: Probably.
Cooper, looking at my sleeveless, under arm during worship services, and with huge eyes says: What’s that white stuff?
Me, trying not to let him see me smile: That’s so I don’t sweat and stink.
Brisco, at 9 a.m.: Mom, can I have a popsicle yet?
Me: Are you serious?
Brisco, while watching me make oatmeal: Why does that pan of water make that noise?
Me: Because the water is getting hot.
Brisco: Why is it getting hot?
Me. Because it is going to cook the oats.
Brisco: Why are there tiny bubbles in the water?
Me: The water is getting ready to boil.
Brisco: What is boil?
Me. Big bubbles that will melt your face off.
Brisco: There’s the big bubbles, Mom. Can I pour the stuff in?
Me. Not a chance. But you can help me stir.
Brisco: Aw, just give me a spoon. I’ll eat the oats right outa the box.
Cooper, with a huge grin, the next time we are sitting in worship service: Hey Mom, remember that white stuff?
Brisco, at 9:30 a.m.: Mom, may I please have a popsicle yet?
Me: It’s 9:30 in the morning. When you get up and do something that makes you sweat, you can have a popsicle.
Cooper: Is Joe going to the major leagues?
Me: Are you talking about Daddy’s Joe?
Cooper: Yes. Is he going to the major leagues since he finished high school?
Me: Well, first you usually go to college, unless you’re really, really good, like Jeter.
Cooper: Well, I wanna go to OU. Then I’ll go to the Yankees.
Brisco: Mom, can we get a cat?
Me: Absolutely not.
Brisco: (Indignantly) Fine. But when you die, I’m getting a cat!
Me: You go right ahead.
Brisco: Mom, did you know baby Caleb drinks milk from Aunt Rhetta’s shirt?
Me: Really? Wow.
Brisco: You need to get you one of those shirts!
Me: Here. Have a popsicle.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Making memories
On Memorial Day weekend, we enjoyed a trip to Duncan to visit Grandma and Granddaddy Smith. And as luck would have it, all eight of the Smith kids had made the same plans: to enjoy a day or two at home with the family-swimming, cooking out, and spending time together.
With all of Randy’s brothers and sisters visiting, and all but one of the 11 grandkids present, it was a moment that doesn’t happen too often in a large family: having everyone back at home at the same time. It makes for a full house, a constantly-running dish washer, and a crazy bunch of kids. But it also makes great memories.
At seven, Tyler is the oldest of the grandchildren. He’s the most loved and the ring leader of the grandkids. He’s smart and brave and the most acrobatic child I’ve ever met. I just know one of these days Cooper is going to break a bone trying to climb a tree as high as his big cousin Tyler.
Mattie is the second oldest at six. She’s daring and dramatic and isn’t afraid to get dirty. Give this girl a pile of dirt and a water hose and she’ll take a head-to-toe mud bath that will have her skin healthier than any supermodel in six states. Just don’t talk her into trying to pull a loose tooth till it’s ready. Her screams could wake the dead.
Cooper comes next at five and a half. He’s the child who just wants to have fun, like all the other cousins, jumping on the trampoline or running through the yard in his bare feet. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with the mother that drags him off the trampoline every time he gets on, and forces him to wear shoes whenever he goes outside. You wouldn’t believe the size of the pine needles in southern Oklahoma.
Haley was the only cousin missing from our holiday weekend. She just turned five, and she falls in with the three older kids just fine. Don’t let anyone tell her she’s too little to do something, cause she’ll try it anyway, and most likely be the best of the bunch. She’s the closest thing to a twin Cooper will ever have, and we all missed seeing her last weekend.
Next come the killer B’s: Brady and Brisco. They are both four years old, only six weeks apart. They share a closeness that all parents wish for their children to find in a friend. Brady is sweet and shy and a stickler for the rules. Brisco is decidedly his polar opposite; but the two of them love one another as if they were the same. They were a powerful force in the pool this weekend, bombing aunt Becca from every angle.
Joe is number seven; he’ll be four in October. He’s a true adventurer. He has been found on top of stoves and underneath porches; there is nothing this boy is afraid of. He has a smile and a laugh that will knock your socks off. Unfortunately, for him, he knocked the top off of a hornet’s nest this weekend, suffering a bite or two around the neck. Of course that didn’t keep him down long. I could swear those were his little buns I found on my camera card when I got home on Monday night.
Aubrey is three, and the oldest of the trifecta of little girls who come next. She is a princess and a beauty queen, and a new big sister. She swims like a fish and her easy, golden tan is the envy of all of her aunties. Mollie and Jenna are the last girls in the bunch. At two and a half and almost two, these three girls together can clean out a toy box and make an hour of dress up seem like a trip to Macy’s.
Little baby Caleb is the newest of our crew. At seven weeks old, he definitely stole the show, giving all the aunts and grandmas a sweet reminder of how small and snuggly our little monsters used to be.
Whether it was roasting marshmallows, playing in the tent, or finding “poo” in the pool, you can bet the weekend with the cousins created lasting memories for everyone in our family, and brought a lifetime of recollections back to both sets of grandparents who were present.
How time does fly when we’re raising kids. It must have seemed like only yesterday that the grandparents were making biscuits and gravy for their own children, or enjoying a cool, summer evening on the back porch, under a blanket of stars, singing and laughing and enjoying just being together.
Yes, time moves too quickly, but thank goodness for long, holiday weekends and for big families who are able and adept at creating memories that last.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
With all of Randy’s brothers and sisters visiting, and all but one of the 11 grandkids present, it was a moment that doesn’t happen too often in a large family: having everyone back at home at the same time. It makes for a full house, a constantly-running dish washer, and a crazy bunch of kids. But it also makes great memories.
At seven, Tyler is the oldest of the grandchildren. He’s the most loved and the ring leader of the grandkids. He’s smart and brave and the most acrobatic child I’ve ever met. I just know one of these days Cooper is going to break a bone trying to climb a tree as high as his big cousin Tyler.
Mattie is the second oldest at six. She’s daring and dramatic and isn’t afraid to get dirty. Give this girl a pile of dirt and a water hose and she’ll take a head-to-toe mud bath that will have her skin healthier than any supermodel in six states. Just don’t talk her into trying to pull a loose tooth till it’s ready. Her screams could wake the dead.
Cooper comes next at five and a half. He’s the child who just wants to have fun, like all the other cousins, jumping on the trampoline or running through the yard in his bare feet. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with the mother that drags him off the trampoline every time he gets on, and forces him to wear shoes whenever he goes outside. You wouldn’t believe the size of the pine needles in southern Oklahoma.
Haley was the only cousin missing from our holiday weekend. She just turned five, and she falls in with the three older kids just fine. Don’t let anyone tell her she’s too little to do something, cause she’ll try it anyway, and most likely be the best of the bunch. She’s the closest thing to a twin Cooper will ever have, and we all missed seeing her last weekend.
Next come the killer B’s: Brady and Brisco. They are both four years old, only six weeks apart. They share a closeness that all parents wish for their children to find in a friend. Brady is sweet and shy and a stickler for the rules. Brisco is decidedly his polar opposite; but the two of them love one another as if they were the same. They were a powerful force in the pool this weekend, bombing aunt Becca from every angle.
Joe is number seven; he’ll be four in October. He’s a true adventurer. He has been found on top of stoves and underneath porches; there is nothing this boy is afraid of. He has a smile and a laugh that will knock your socks off. Unfortunately, for him, he knocked the top off of a hornet’s nest this weekend, suffering a bite or two around the neck. Of course that didn’t keep him down long. I could swear those were his little buns I found on my camera card when I got home on Monday night.
Aubrey is three, and the oldest of the trifecta of little girls who come next. She is a princess and a beauty queen, and a new big sister. She swims like a fish and her easy, golden tan is the envy of all of her aunties. Mollie and Jenna are the last girls in the bunch. At two and a half and almost two, these three girls together can clean out a toy box and make an hour of dress up seem like a trip to Macy’s.
Little baby Caleb is the newest of our crew. At seven weeks old, he definitely stole the show, giving all the aunts and grandmas a sweet reminder of how small and snuggly our little monsters used to be.
Whether it was roasting marshmallows, playing in the tent, or finding “poo” in the pool, you can bet the weekend with the cousins created lasting memories for everyone in our family, and brought a lifetime of recollections back to both sets of grandparents who were present.
How time does fly when we’re raising kids. It must have seemed like only yesterday that the grandparents were making biscuits and gravy for their own children, or enjoying a cool, summer evening on the back porch, under a blanket of stars, singing and laughing and enjoying just being together.
Yes, time moves too quickly, but thank goodness for long, holiday weekends and for big families who are able and adept at creating memories that last.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Counting down to summer
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!
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Early morning entertainment
Every so often, a mother has a morning when she just needs a few extra minutes to get around. West coast ball game, sick kid in the night, terrorizing dreams of being swallowed by piles of dirty laundry--whatever the cause, sometimes it just takes more than the typical 36-seconds to get the job done.
It seems these slow-moving mornings are the ones when the kids need us for everything. The independent one who needs no help doing anything suddenly can’t eat, drink, dress or pee alone. He can’t pick out his shoes, find his glove, or look at a book without complete mommy supervision.
These are the mornings, I have decided, that have led millions of parents to introduce their children to the big, purple dinosaur. However, since we don’t allow that annoying old bag of bones in our house, this week, our youngest child was forced to turn to something a little more modern: my ipod.
After the third attempt to wash my face with a rag that I couldn’t seem to get past lukewarm, Brisco, yet again, snuck around the corner between my bedroom and bathroom begging for my undivided attention. He looked up at me with his brown eyes wide. He had his hands behind his back, holding the one, personal, only-for-momma techno-gadget that I own, and a grin on his face that told me he either needed to be squeezed or spanked. And after my fifth deep breath of the morning, I said, “What have you got now?”
Again with the grinning, and viola, my little red music machine appeared, wadded up in his four-year old hands. “I wanna put these in my ears.”
Despite my better judgment, I caved. “OK, get up on my bed, and I’ll find you something good.” I of course, had no idea what I’d find that would keep him contained for longer than it would take me to actually find something to keep him contained. Little did I know what a great form of easy entertainment this device would prove to be.
I started him out on something I knew he’d love: “Yankee Mambo”. I could hear him from the bathroom trying to keep up with a song he’d never heard before. “A little bit of na na na na na. A little bit of Jeter na na na.” It was classic, but it didn’t last long. The song ended, and three minutes and 51 seconds later, he was standing at my feet, again, with the grin.
“OK,” I said. “Let me find you something else.” I knew I had a play list saved that I used for working out, and I figured he’d like the upbeat tempo. Boy was I right. I heard him singing from the other room and had to stop what I was doing to check him out. “Let’s get ready to rumble!” he said as he moved his shoulders up and down to the funky beat. He’d see me looking at him and he’d stop moving and start grinning.
Suddenly I’d hear, “I like to move it move it!” Thank goodness for Madagascar and those crazy, dancing lemurs. The next time I looked in, he was down in the floor doing some kind of fast footwork that I haven’t seen since Electric Boogaloo. As he popped and locked his way past “Space Jam” and the choo choo train song, I could hear him chanting, “I think I can. I think I can.” right on the beat. I think this little music gizmo may have just saved my sanity. In fact, it had bought me so much time that I decided to actually brush my hair before tying it back into a pony tail. Wow. Who knew.
I wanted to see if I could really get a bang for my buck, so I snuck out of the bathroom to throw in a load of laundry. I closed the lid and crept back to the bedroom just in time to hear him ask me a question. “Mom, what does it mean when they are clapping?” I explained what a live recording was and then started wracking my brain to figure out what song he was listening to now.
“What’s it saying?” I asked. “Boots,” he said. “Boots?” I asked. “One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you!” And then he burst into hysterical laughter. Like I said. Easy entertainment--for us both.
As I continued my morning regimen, I heard him again, alone in my bedroom, talking--rather, singing to himself. “What are you lookin’ at?” With the perfect rhythm and rhyme, complete with the Madonna whisper and attitude. I asked him a minute or so later what he was listening to now and he said, “Come on, Pose!”
I guess a mother never really knows where she’s going to get her next big laugh. I didn’t think it would come on a morning when my face was swelled up like a watermelon, and my neck was aching from trying to share two lousy feet of a king-sized bed with a four year old boy.
But that’s just one of the joys of motherhood: A miserable night’s sleep, followed by the realization that my body has aged years ahead of my mind, topped off with one of the most fulfilling belly laughs I’ve had in a long time. Early morning entertainment. Courtesy of the one and only.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It seems these slow-moving mornings are the ones when the kids need us for everything. The independent one who needs no help doing anything suddenly can’t eat, drink, dress or pee alone. He can’t pick out his shoes, find his glove, or look at a book without complete mommy supervision.
These are the mornings, I have decided, that have led millions of parents to introduce their children to the big, purple dinosaur. However, since we don’t allow that annoying old bag of bones in our house, this week, our youngest child was forced to turn to something a little more modern: my ipod.
After the third attempt to wash my face with a rag that I couldn’t seem to get past lukewarm, Brisco, yet again, snuck around the corner between my bedroom and bathroom begging for my undivided attention. He looked up at me with his brown eyes wide. He had his hands behind his back, holding the one, personal, only-for-momma techno-gadget that I own, and a grin on his face that told me he either needed to be squeezed or spanked. And after my fifth deep breath of the morning, I said, “What have you got now?”
Again with the grinning, and viola, my little red music machine appeared, wadded up in his four-year old hands. “I wanna put these in my ears.”
Despite my better judgment, I caved. “OK, get up on my bed, and I’ll find you something good.” I of course, had no idea what I’d find that would keep him contained for longer than it would take me to actually find something to keep him contained. Little did I know what a great form of easy entertainment this device would prove to be.
I started him out on something I knew he’d love: “Yankee Mambo”. I could hear him from the bathroom trying to keep up with a song he’d never heard before. “A little bit of na na na na na. A little bit of Jeter na na na.” It was classic, but it didn’t last long. The song ended, and three minutes and 51 seconds later, he was standing at my feet, again, with the grin.
“OK,” I said. “Let me find you something else.” I knew I had a play list saved that I used for working out, and I figured he’d like the upbeat tempo. Boy was I right. I heard him singing from the other room and had to stop what I was doing to check him out. “Let’s get ready to rumble!” he said as he moved his shoulders up and down to the funky beat. He’d see me looking at him and he’d stop moving and start grinning.
Suddenly I’d hear, “I like to move it move it!” Thank goodness for Madagascar and those crazy, dancing lemurs. The next time I looked in, he was down in the floor doing some kind of fast footwork that I haven’t seen since Electric Boogaloo. As he popped and locked his way past “Space Jam” and the choo choo train song, I could hear him chanting, “I think I can. I think I can.” right on the beat. I think this little music gizmo may have just saved my sanity. In fact, it had bought me so much time that I decided to actually brush my hair before tying it back into a pony tail. Wow. Who knew.
I wanted to see if I could really get a bang for my buck, so I snuck out of the bathroom to throw in a load of laundry. I closed the lid and crept back to the bedroom just in time to hear him ask me a question. “Mom, what does it mean when they are clapping?” I explained what a live recording was and then started wracking my brain to figure out what song he was listening to now.
“What’s it saying?” I asked. “Boots,” he said. “Boots?” I asked. “One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you!” And then he burst into hysterical laughter. Like I said. Easy entertainment--for us both.
As I continued my morning regimen, I heard him again, alone in my bedroom, talking--rather, singing to himself. “What are you lookin’ at?” With the perfect rhythm and rhyme, complete with the Madonna whisper and attitude. I asked him a minute or so later what he was listening to now and he said, “Come on, Pose!”
I guess a mother never really knows where she’s going to get her next big laugh. I didn’t think it would come on a morning when my face was swelled up like a watermelon, and my neck was aching from trying to share two lousy feet of a king-sized bed with a four year old boy.
But that’s just one of the joys of motherhood: A miserable night’s sleep, followed by the realization that my body has aged years ahead of my mind, topped off with one of the most fulfilling belly laughs I’ve had in a long time. Early morning entertainment. Courtesy of the one and only.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Friday, April 23, 2010
The loneliest job
I took to the yard a few weeks back, trying to tidy things up and enjoy some of the day’s untimely sunshine that’s been so hard to come by this spring. There were a hundred and one jobs that needed to be tackled, but it seemed I was the only one who could see past the ball field constructed in our yard.
From the porch, I watched for a moment those two little sluggers who kept hitting and rounding and yelling out the score. It made me smile to see them playing together, sibling rivalry aside, joining forces in like uniforms to help their chosen team win yet another World Series. It wasn’t until I ventured further into the yard that I smelled, rather than saw, this game up close and personal.
Apparently, a ninety-pound lab with a healthy appetite, and a very clean colon, can really wreak havoc on a backyard ball diamond. She doesn’t understand fair or foul territory, and it seems she quite favors the base paths. I suddenly knew which of my 101 jobs I should tackle first.
So, as I stood in between home and first, during the seventh game of the World Series, a shovel in my hands, loading up that plastic-lined, five gallon bucket, I thought to myself, “This has got to be the loneliest job in the world.”
Indeed, the loneliest on a list of lonesome, labors of love we mothers take upon ourselves for the sake of our children. But this dirty job is not alone. He has many friends who come to visit from time to time. Some stay for a day; some for a week. Some drop by so frequently we wonder if they will ever leave our children alone and give us, the overworked mothers of the world, a break.
Allow me to acquaint you with some of our friends.
Laundry. The Bermuda Triangle of raising kids. The Black Hole of motherhood. Give me another year or two and I’ll put this spiraling out of control, never-ending, natural disaster on their to-do lists.
Holding a sick baby. There aren’t many things worse than a child giving you the wide-eyed look, the whimper, and the dry, gravely cough that tells you whatever’s left down there is about to come up here, and there’s not a thing you can do but hold them tight and help them aim for the bucket.
Maintaining a working vacuum. Between two boys, a dad, a dog and a stringy-haired blond, we’ve killed half a dozen of them. Where are those Rainbow guys when you need them?
Separating squabbling siblings. I hear it happens more often as they get older, but for now it usually stems from the little one wanting to do/be just like the big one. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Yeah, that kinda flies right over the head of a five year old and as of yet, hasn’t done much to defuse any situation.
Grocery shopping. We went from being unable to afford the things we wanted, to buying everything we wanted because we finally could. After the kids came, I’d get so excited about a trip to the store because it was the only thirty minutes of “me time” I’d had in a week. And now? It’s just another lonely endeavor. Everyone complains when there’s nothing to eat, but nobody’s quite big enough to help out.
Quelling a fever. Definitely one of life’s loneliest jobs, leaving a mother feeling powerless but for the small consolation that comes from a cool rag, a simple rocking chair and a comfy lap.
Having to say “No”. I never wanted to be anybody’s “yes man,” but it’s no fun being the "no mom" either. However, I just can’t seem to get on board with the idea of Cokes and candy bars as meal replacements.
Answering the unanswerable questions. “Momma, are you gonna die?” When will you die?” “Do Mommas die first and then their kids?”
Sending my babies to school. While I’d give my right lung to get them outa my hair for an hour, I’m not sure I’m prepared to turn them loose on the world. Seven hours a day, away from the protective eyes and ears of their mother…how will they ever survive?
Still, with all of this, we mothers wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh, we’d take an on-call nanny or a full-time maid, or even just a couple extra hands to fold laundry on those really lonely days. But we’re moms. A sisterhood of the toughest, brightest, most resolute minds in the business.
Yes, shoveling dog poop may certainly be one of the loneliest jobs in the world, but it’s also a lot like life. Even though sometimes we find ourselves standing in the middle of a lonely, stinking mess, it’s a lot easier just to clean it up…before it gets smeared all over the bottoms of our feet. Besides, what else would a good mother do?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
From the porch, I watched for a moment those two little sluggers who kept hitting and rounding and yelling out the score. It made me smile to see them playing together, sibling rivalry aside, joining forces in like uniforms to help their chosen team win yet another World Series. It wasn’t until I ventured further into the yard that I smelled, rather than saw, this game up close and personal.
Apparently, a ninety-pound lab with a healthy appetite, and a very clean colon, can really wreak havoc on a backyard ball diamond. She doesn’t understand fair or foul territory, and it seems she quite favors the base paths. I suddenly knew which of my 101 jobs I should tackle first.
So, as I stood in between home and first, during the seventh game of the World Series, a shovel in my hands, loading up that plastic-lined, five gallon bucket, I thought to myself, “This has got to be the loneliest job in the world.”
Indeed, the loneliest on a list of lonesome, labors of love we mothers take upon ourselves for the sake of our children. But this dirty job is not alone. He has many friends who come to visit from time to time. Some stay for a day; some for a week. Some drop by so frequently we wonder if they will ever leave our children alone and give us, the overworked mothers of the world, a break.
Allow me to acquaint you with some of our friends.
Laundry. The Bermuda Triangle of raising kids. The Black Hole of motherhood. Give me another year or two and I’ll put this spiraling out of control, never-ending, natural disaster on their to-do lists.
Holding a sick baby. There aren’t many things worse than a child giving you the wide-eyed look, the whimper, and the dry, gravely cough that tells you whatever’s left down there is about to come up here, and there’s not a thing you can do but hold them tight and help them aim for the bucket.
Maintaining a working vacuum. Between two boys, a dad, a dog and a stringy-haired blond, we’ve killed half a dozen of them. Where are those Rainbow guys when you need them?
Separating squabbling siblings. I hear it happens more often as they get older, but for now it usually stems from the little one wanting to do/be just like the big one. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Yeah, that kinda flies right over the head of a five year old and as of yet, hasn’t done much to defuse any situation.
Grocery shopping. We went from being unable to afford the things we wanted, to buying everything we wanted because we finally could. After the kids came, I’d get so excited about a trip to the store because it was the only thirty minutes of “me time” I’d had in a week. And now? It’s just another lonely endeavor. Everyone complains when there’s nothing to eat, but nobody’s quite big enough to help out.
Quelling a fever. Definitely one of life’s loneliest jobs, leaving a mother feeling powerless but for the small consolation that comes from a cool rag, a simple rocking chair and a comfy lap.
Having to say “No”. I never wanted to be anybody’s “yes man,” but it’s no fun being the "no mom" either. However, I just can’t seem to get on board with the idea of Cokes and candy bars as meal replacements.
Answering the unanswerable questions. “Momma, are you gonna die?” When will you die?” “Do Mommas die first and then their kids?”
Sending my babies to school. While I’d give my right lung to get them outa my hair for an hour, I’m not sure I’m prepared to turn them loose on the world. Seven hours a day, away from the protective eyes and ears of their mother…how will they ever survive?
Still, with all of this, we mothers wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh, we’d take an on-call nanny or a full-time maid, or even just a couple extra hands to fold laundry on those really lonely days. But we’re moms. A sisterhood of the toughest, brightest, most resolute minds in the business.
Yes, shoveling dog poop may certainly be one of the loneliest jobs in the world, but it’s also a lot like life. Even though sometimes we find ourselves standing in the middle of a lonely, stinking mess, it’s a lot easier just to clean it up…before it gets smeared all over the bottoms of our feet. Besides, what else would a good mother do?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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