If You Knew Him at all, You'd Have a Hard Time Believing Any of This....

For all that this is MY blog, I don't think I've ever really talked about ME.  Sure, in the beginning there were the cute little posts listing random facts about me, but not a lot about what actually makes me.... me.  And mostly, that's okay. I mean, this blog is supposed to be the place where I get to brag about, or maybe even whine a little about, my boys without anyone interrupting me. Or contradicting me. Or sidetracking me. (Let's face it, I can get sidetracked easily enough on my own, thankyouverymuch.)

But here's a thought.....

Would my boys be the boys they are if I wasn't the me that I am?  Which makes me wonder sometimes, how did I get to be the me that I am?

Don't worry. I'm not really going to give you a long, drawn out, boring backstory on myself.  Most of any of it has no real bearing on the here and now. But..... I had a conversation tonight that made me take a really long look at just what parts of the me then went into the making of the me now. 

A conversation with the one brother guaranteed to make me scream, cry, pull out my hair, roll my eyes, and set the phone down because I'm not getting a word in, anyway. All within the first three minutes of the conversation.  *sigh* He may be a puke, but I love him.

I won't get into the whole thing. But I will tell you that as surprising as it is, this man (heh.... I typed "boy" first, then literally reminded myself--out loud--that he's 36. Which really means he's not a boy, doesn't it?) has some occasional flashes of observation, philosophy and insight that just blow you away. Tonight was really no different. Well, actually....it kind of was.  If you call the fact that for the first time in...oh, I have no idea when but I suspect it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 36 years, he told me that he was proud of me. He believed in me. He was proud to be like me.

It started with him telling me that my boys were boys he was proud to claim as nephews. Well, duh. I could have told they would be. It morphed into him telling me how proud he was to claim me as his big sister.  He told me that despite every single negative crud-bucket-y thing that had ever happened in my life since I acknowledged adulthood, I was not a failure.

I repeat.... I am NOT a failure.

And would you believe that despite having worked that logic out on my own, I have never actually believed it. I mean, look at the facts. Here I am, almost 38 years old, and I've never outright owned a single thing since I graduated high school. We are still renting a house, no clear ability to purchase anything anytime before my grandkids (may they not arrive for AT LEAST ten years) graduate high school. We only have one vehicle, while the other one sits -- useless and so unable to run that even the spiders won't touch it -- in my driveway. Oh yes, and we still owe money on it? We struggle from paycheck to paycheck, trying to remember which utility company sent which disconnect notice on what day; and was that date yesterday or today? We work hard to convince our boys that receiving gifts at Christmas, especially anything remotely resembling what the actually wanted, is a highly overrated custom?  And yet....and yet....

My brother, who can't stand to be around me for longer than 15 minutes (and sad though it is, I really am not making that up), believes in me. Believes that my boys are who they are, which is basically astounding and amazing young men, because of who I am. And that who I am is someone who not only has done her best, but is someone that HASN'T FAILED. 

I need to keep saying that in all caps. Otherwise, I'll let myself believe that it wasn't actually said.)

In life, all I have ever really wanted can be summed up in just a few bullet points:

• I wanted kids that I would get phone calls and emails about from other parents, teachers and people in our community, telling me how polite, well-mannered and thoughtful they were.
• I wanted a husband that would stick by me, no matter what hell we had to get through to at least pass on the fringes of heaven.
• I wanted a career I could take pride in, and have longevity in.
• I wanted to NOT live in an apartment forever.

Well, let's recap my life with these dreams.....

• I have those kids. If ex-girlfriend's parents can corner me in the grocery store to ask if he'd take their daughter out again; and if every single teacher, despite being frustrated with the grades he squeaks by with, can gush about what a wonderful kid my Bug is, and how he's always the first one to make friends with the new kid or open the door for a teacher; well then, it looks like my boys are so totally living up to my expectations.
• In just a little over two weeks, I will be celebrating 18 years of marriage to someone who stuck around when it would have been so much easier to walk away; someone who is still the first person I want to talk to when something is going wrong, when something is going right, or just when something isn't going anywhere at all and we need to liven it up a bit!
• While I might have been in my current office only a little over a year, I HAVE been in this industry for over 16 years. See? Longevity.
• And while we may only be renting, not working towards owning the thing, it is still a HOUSE, with a yard and a garage; and NOT an APARTMENT. 

And most of all, we're all happy. And I didn't fail. I will not fail.

I am not failing.

And that? Is the absolute most wonderful thing ever said to me. Ever.

Don't They Do Head Counts Anymore?

Can you believe that the coach let the bus leave the track meet tonight without this?

Oh, and without the four boys waiting for it who wouldn't take their hands off if it when it was placed there?

The relay team that helped to score enough points for the team to take 1st place overall at this track me; the relay team who ran the very last race of the night; the relay team who stayed to make sure that they received their medals and ended up making sure someone claimed the trophy that was being presented to the school...... this relay team contained my Teenager.

And so now, at least for the night, my house also contains this trophy.

Ain't it cool? 




Hosted by Cecilyand Caitlin

There Are Many Reasons For Tears

Its been a long week. A heart stopping, heart wrenching, emotional week.

Jock actually did get to play a little in his game on Thursday. And his coach had a talk with him about having benched him at all. There was a little misunderstanding about some perceived attitude. All seems to be well now, and it looks like we'll be playing again on Tuesday. (Ok, yes, I know... there isn't a "we" as I won't actually be out on the field or in the dugout, but... *shrug*)

Bug had a game last night, where he finally ....FINALLY.... broke out of his hitting slump. His first at bat, he hit a really weird single. I say really weird, because he hit the ball, it headed out towards the gap between the third baseman and the shortstop..... when it abruptly DROPPED onto the grass. Like it had simply hit a wall. Strange. However, it got him to first base. His next two at bats resulted in triples! WooHOO! The final one bringing in the winning run in the last inning! He was totally on top of the world after that. Can you blame him?

Coach and I have done some deep soul-searching on how involved we get with the boys' sports. And while we haven't actually talked about it, I think we've reached a good place. He loves to coach. He's good at it. He knows his stuff. And he makes a difference in these young lives that he touches for a short time. We've heard from some previous players this past week about how they wish they had him back. They miss him. And this is coming from the older kids he's coached. One of whom is actually Jock's current coach's son! Coach has heard from some of the parents of his current team that their boys are learning more about baseball this season. We even talked to the president of the local football league here today when we went to get Bug registered for the upcoming football season. He told Coach that even though he missed the deadline to submit his application for a head coaching spot, he really wanted Coach to fill out the assistant coach's application. He told Coach that while it was ultimately his (Coach's) decision to either sit back and be a parent, or continue with coaching.... he (the president) thought it would be a great shame to not utilize the talent, passion and knowledge Coach has for coaching. And yes, Coach filled out the app.

We drove the boys out to the crash site today. It was both humbling and moving. We were there for probably only ten minutes or so, but it felt like time sort of stopped for that little bit. We walked around the memorial that has sprung up for D. We traced the path the SUV took. We imagined where the boys had ended up when they were thrown from the vehicle. Both my boys were silent. My ever-energetic Bug was still. My super-stoic Jock had tears in his eyes as he left a message on a card there. Coach got very clinical and matter of fact, talking to others asking questions. And I cried. And prayed. Prayed that God would look out for my babies as they grew. Prayed, selfishly perhaps, that I would never have to experience what D's parents are going through. Prayed that my boys would never forget the lessons they've learned from this.

And then we loaded up the car and drove home in silence. But you can bet there was a seat belt on every body in the car.

Inspiration Hits!

I've been racking my brain all day trying to come up with something to write about. So I sat here, reading through all the blogs I frequent, clicking on links to discover even more blogs to read, trying to get some ideas. I went for a drive at work (who am I kidding? Driving IS my job!), listening to the radio, and bopping along to some great 80's tunes.

And then I stumbled across this on Colleen's blog. She had read this at Miss Zoot's blog. Who had in turn read this at Schmutzie's blog. And that's when inspiration hit me. Well, more like it whacked me on the side of the head, but who's worried about specifics here? :)

How many times have you read someone's blog, but only commented rarely? Or worse... never? I know that as a new blogger, I love it when someone leaves me a comment. It lets me know that someone other than my mother is reading this. It validates me in a way that I haven't been validated since my high school creative writing classes. **not that I need that validation, mind you... lol** It makes me feel connected to people outside of my kids and their school and their sports. And while I'm mentioning it, I love my mother and I know she loves me too, but she hasn't commented here, either! :)




So.... here's the thing. Tomorrow is the day. I fully expect to find tons of comments in my blog. I'll be generous... you don't have to comment on any specific entry. Feel free to browse through them and comment randomly. :)

If you do.... I promise not to subject you to a rant about how people look at me funny as I dance and drive!

Well this sucks.....

Apparently I'm not going to live as long as I thought I was. Although maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Maybe since I'm going out so young, I won't have to worry about what kind of nursing home my kids will put me in.

Or if their future spouses would *love* it if I came and lived with them.

Or what kind of trophy wife Coach plans on trading me in for.

Or adult diapers. **shudder**

Or worse....have you ever given thought to how awful it would be to have someone else shaving your legs???

Huh. So ok. Maybe it doesn't TOTALLY suck.