Awesome. Just Awesome.

• Check in at the Greyhound satellite terminal located about 25 minutes from our house. 
• Find out that this trip includes a four hour layover. At a terminal located only an additional 20 minutes from our house.
• Get on the stupid bus anyway, because that's how transportation was arranged and there was no way to just skip this step and catch up with the bus in four and a half hours.
• Finally, after hanging out for hours at the second terminal, get started on the road!
• Thirty minutes later, wouldn't you know it? The A/C on the bus pukes out. Can't be fixed quickly, so onward it rolls; no air. For the remaining seven hours of the trip.

And that, my friends? Is how Coach began this new adventure he's on. This adventure called A NEW JOB!!!  Yes, after two years of being unemployed, my man is working again!!!  This bus ride took him to three weeks of training, for a job that will have him gone wayyyy more than he's home. But....A JOB!! There are times and situations in life that you just have to deal with something sucky because it gets you to other things that aren't sucky. This is one of them. Coach not home=sucky. Being able to afford things like graduation (ugh--there's that word again!), gas for the car and air conditioning for the house in the hotter-than-the-fires-of-hell summer of Arizona=NOT sucky.  So? We deal.

Big big BIG thank yous to everyone of you who prayed for us, kept your fingers crossed, sent positive energy our way, and danced naked under the moon. It paid off, and means more to us than you'll ever know.

I'd say let's all stop with the naked moon dancing now, except I've found it's rather enjoyable. I might, however, save it for those four nights a month Coach will actually be home.

This was taken ON the craptastic bus ride. Looks like fun, right?

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Sundays are lazy days around here. Although I suppose Coach gets more exercise on Sundays than any other day of the week, what with all the jumping, fist pumping and/or sofa pillow throwing that gets done during football games. So maybe Sundays are just lazy days for me. Whatever.

And in the true spirit of laziness, I just can't quite bring my fingers to type a completely unique, never before read, post. And so you are going to get links. Links to some of my favorite posts from the last three years (ohmahgawd...can you believe I've been wandering aimlessly through this blogosphere for THREE YEARS??).   I was trolling through them today, and thought I'd re-share them.

We are embarking on a spirit of recycling here in my house these days, after all.

Bug's first day of the last year of being a little boy.

What I suspect might be the secret to long lasting friendships.

The Teenager's strength and character.

Proof that even being married as long as we have, I can still drive him crazy. 

Happy Lazy Sunday, everyone!

A Little Bit of Absence....A Little Bit of Growth

Yes, I know I haven't been around here much lately. In fact, I've been so absent that I'm fairly certain most of you, upon seeing a new post pop up in your reader, are finding yourselves wondering just who the heck this Sports Mama person is. And if you DO remember me, you're most likely saying to yourself Oh thank goodness! I was afraid she'd been kidnapped by aliens or joined a cult where she had to give up everything and everyone! What a relief to see her here again!

Or not. But whatever. I'm here again. At least for today.

But! But! But!  It seems I've gone and surprised myself with a few things on these days I haven't been here. For instance, did any of you out there ever know what an amazingly awesome thing SLEEP is?? Or to be more specific, sleeping for more than 3-4 hours a night? Why didn't anyone ever tell me? Or perhaps more accurately, why didn't anyone ever shove a sleep aid down my throat and make a believer out of me before now?

I've also rediscovered what a great sitting-on-the-sofa-catching-up-on-all-our-favorite-shows-that-we-missed-during-baseball-season-and-cuddling sort of man my husband is.  (Don't worry. I didn't expect any of you to have already known that one.)

And......I've also rediscovered what an amazingly forgetful person I can be. Because I know that many, many times I've emerged from a situation or conversation, and thought AH! I need to remember to blog about that when I get back to a computer!. And then..... forgotten. (It's okay. If you already know this truth about me, there really wasn't anything you could have done to help avoid it. Unless you followed me around all day with a laptop, typing everything I say. Any volunteers for that job? The pay is ridiculously low, and there are no health benefits; but you'd get to see the inner workings of my mind. Not enough of an incentive? *sigh* Okay then.)

There are also some things happening in our little household that will most certainly create a shift in our lives as we know them, at the least.  Bug?  Is going into 7th grade. Where there are girls. That like like him. Girls that have prompted the question Mom, how do I talk to them? No, really....what, exactly, am I supposed to say after I say hello??

Jock? Have mercy; this boy is going to be a Senior in high school this fall. And (and this might be possibly the most surprising life-shift happening).... he is fairly certain that he does NOT want to play football this year. That's okay, you can go back and read that again. It was strange to us, too.  But as he and I sat on the track one night at about 11:30pm, between events at a decathlon he was participating in he looked at me and said Mom, I've fallen in love with track. With how good I am at it. With everything about it. With track, I can actually see myself going somewhere with it.

So that's where I've been. Sitting on my sofa, cuddling with my husband, trying to help one son figure out how to get where he wants to go, and praising the other for having enough character to not only recognize a new path in life, but the strength and confidence to take it.

And somewhere in there?  I'm learning how to let go of each of them a little bit more. It's a good thing I've rediscovered cuddling with Coach. It's giving me something to hold onto when my arms are feeling emptier.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things....

A perfectly pitched ball by Bug that sails through for "Strike Three!"...
Those 23.3 seconds of time when the Teenager is speeding past everyone else....
Hearing Coach tell me I'm right... about anything.....

Getting an email from one of my favorite friends, just wondering how the heck I am....
Having someone tell me they envy how easy it is for me to lose myself in all the testosterone in my house....
Opening a fortune cookie with an actual fortune in it, not just some stupid meaningless drivel....

The smells of freshly mowed grass and the air after a rain storm....
The very first sip of a soda fresh from the fountain.....
Feeling Coach's fingers playing with my hair...

Finding just enough change in my purse or jacket pocket to stop for a chocolate donut on the way into work in the morning....
The first 30 seconds in the sun after leaving a too-cold air conditioned room....
Laying down to bed at night and feeling your head find just the right spot on the pillow as soon as it hits.....

Getting a phone call at bedtime and hearing "Mom, I miss you!", even though I'm only gone just one night....
Getting a text from the Teenager on the way to school in the morning, telling me he loves me.....
Coming home after being gone and walking into a hug from Coach that feels..... perfect.

Just Call Me Rudy

Determination. Endurance. Conviction. Strength of will. The ability to look at the mountain and treat it like the molehill.  Belief in yourself.

For the Teenager, these things have led him to go out for a sport he's NEVER tried before. And these things carried him onto the Varsity track team; into track meets where there are over 70 schools competing in each event; into races where the odds seem to be stacked against a kid who's never competed at this level before. And these things have brought him across the finish line with an amazingly fast time, to place no lower than third in his strongest event. In every meet he's competed in.

For Bug, these things have led him to face challenges daily that most kids his age don't ever have to face. And these things have carried him into a sport that constantly batters against his struggle to feel pride in himself and what he accomplishes, and forces comparisons against athletes that most likely aren't facing what he faces internally. But these things have brought him to a level in this sport that sees him keep a measure of pride in himself when he walks a batter rather than strike him out like he did the last one. And they keep showing him how to look for ways to improve rather than ways to tear himself down.

For Coach, these things have led him to holding onto a vehicle that would almost be better served by walking away from. And these things have pushed him into continuing to lift the hood to see why the engine once again isn't starting, or pulling off the inner door to find some way to fix the handle so he can actually get into the driver's side seat without opening the rear passenger door to open the front passenger door to climb over the front passenger seat just to be able to drive the blasted thing. And so these qualities have made it possible for him to hop on one of the boys' bikes so that he can ride the 10 miles to the auto parts store and the 10 miles back, with a bum knee, just to get the part he needs.

For me, these qualities have given me the push I need to keep going every day, knowing that it's not always enough. They have nudged me when I need the reminder, and they have allowed me to rejoice when I can finally see an outcome to something I haven't given up on--like finding out that the Teenager is planning on going to prom this year, instead of waiting until his senior year like he's kept threatening.

Determination. Endurance. Belief. Its just three things; three little things. They are so hard to practice, but the rewards are so unbelievably not little.

He Really Needs Some Good Hero Theme Music, I Think

Thwap
Thwap. Thwap.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Thwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwap...... You get the picture, right?

Stupid flat tire.

I -- quite rightly, I figure -- decide to get off the highway where people are flying by at 75+ miles an hour, and find a nice, quiet side street. The problem with nice, quiet side streets is that there is NO ONE coming by, flying or crawling.  No problem, I tell myself. I'll just get out and MAKE SURE the tire is flat. Because apparently there is something ELSE that can make that noise?!? Oddly, the tires all looked fully inflated. So what the heck had been making that noise? Hey! I knew someone who could tell me!

Me: Hi honey!
Coach: Um, hi? Aren't you on your way home?
Me: Well, my phone is dying and I thought I should call you now and tell you that I thought I had a flat, but the tires don't look flat.
Coach: *pause* Why did you think you had a flat?
Me: Thwapthwapthwapthwap.....that's what I heard, and that's what tires sound like when they're flat. (People, you really don't want to know how I know this so well.)
Coach: And so is your tire flat?
Me: That's the thing. No.
Coach: So what are you calling me for?
Me: Good question. I'm hanging up now in case I need to call you again.

At which point my phone.... died. Because apparently it was in league with the tire tonight. Which? Kept making that noise when I decided to keep driving home. Which was how I came to find myself under the lights at an out of the way gas station (because really....why wouldn't I take the long, roundabout way home when potentially facing a flat tire in total darkness?). With a very flat tire. And a dead cell phone.

On the plus side, the pay phone at this little hole in the wall gas station? VERY clean. Good thing, too, since I had to use it to call Coach and ask him to climb up on that white stallion and come charging to the rescue. Okay, fine. He had to climb into a beat up, barely running Ford Explorer and pray like the Dicken's he could even find me to rescue me. Tomato, tomahto.

It's Not A Resolution, It's A Promise

I'm sure that by this point in the new year, you've already seen a bajillion resolutions floating around from people you know and blogs you read. And I'm sure you've made a few of your own. So I could sit here and list my resolutions for you, too. You know, just to share.

But see, the reality? I don't really make resolutions. I don't really keep them. I seem to have a complete lack of willpower when it comes to denying myself something I've decided I like. So this year, I'm taking a different approach. I'm not making resolutions for myself. I'm making promises to other people.

I'm promising Coach three months of telling myself "no" at least twice a week when I want something I don't have to have. Like a $2.60 cup of hot chocolate every morning on the way to work.

I'm promising Jock three months of letting him drive without hearing "I think you need to....." come out of my mouth. He really is a good driver, and I want him to know that I believe in him.

I'm promising Bug three months of having my undivided attention for at least 15 minutes each day. I want there to be not a single doubt in his mind that he is undeniably essential to my life.

I'm promising my friends, both old and new, that I will no longer just sit back and wait for someone to call and include me in their lives. Its said that to have the friend you'd like to have, you need to be that friend. So my phone will be reintroduced to its dialing feature, and my email will see more outgoing mail than it has in the past.

I'm promising my parents and brothers the same thing. To each of them. So I will be calling my dad as well as my mom; and both of my brothers will hear from me even when I'm not reminding them it's someone's birthday.

And to myself? I'm promising myself less guilt over taking time for myself every once in a while and doing something that will benefit no one else but me.

The thing about resolutions? Those are just ideas that you try to accomplish, and shrug off if you don't. But a promise? Those are binding, and you're held accountable for keeping it. I've always been a person who strives to keep any promise I've ever made, so I'm fairly certain I'll have better luck keeping a promise than following a resolution. And the bit about only promising for three months? Once I hit that point, it's a habit and regular part of my life routine.

Besides, in three months? It's going to be too hot to drink hot chocolate in Arizona, anyway.

He Knows I Can't Cook, But He Stuck Around Anyway

There are many things I've learned over the last seventeen years. Things about myself, things about those closest to me, and things about life in general. For example, did you know that despite it being one of the most annoying things on the planet, you won't actually die if you have to fix the toothpaste tube because someone squeezed from the middle rather than from the end like rational people do? Even if you have to fix it Every. Stinkin'. Morning for seventeen years? That would be 6,205 mornings. That is a lot of mornings, yes. But you still won't die from doing it.

I've also learned that there are people out there who find an enormous amount of humor and enjoyment in doing things like changing the way the toilet paper will come off the roll (God really does want it to come off the top, not from the bottom. Trust me.), purposely reaching over and snagging your pillow for the sole purpose of heating it up knowing you prefer it nice and cool when you lay on it for the first time each night, and not adjusting the driver's seat of your vehicle back to your preferred settings after they've driven it.

I've also learned that no matter how many children you have, or how good you might be at parenting them, being a good parent does not equate with being a good spouse. So I've learned to never stop working at either job. I've learned that it's okay to hide in the bathroom with a book for thirty minutes, and that it's also okay to tell everyone else that they need to go be by themselves for thirty minutes.

I have learned that there is a lot of changes that can happen to a body in seventeen years, but that looking at someone through a love-covered lens enables you to see nothing but someone's heart. And that in seventeen years, those hearts are always evolving and growing with you.

In the past seventeen years, I've learned that his squeezing the tube of toothpaste wrong, warming up my pillow for me, switching the toilet paper direction and leaving my seat at his settings are things that won't change. And that's okay. Because I've learned that he's figured out that my hairspray overspray, unshaven legs for a week (and if we're being honest here? Sometimes a *bit* longer), my habit of leaving my recently finished books wherever I was sitting when I finished them and my apparent inability to cook anything that is not pasta very well are things that in all probability will never change about me.

We've learned that in seventeen years together, we're just where we most want to be. With the person we most want to be there with.  We have learned that we're in this marriage together.  We've learned that we're able to grow together into the people we want to be.

Seventeen years is a long time to be married. It's a long time to be committed to someone, confident beyond all doubt that you have spent the last seventeen years with exactly the RIGHT someone. But if we haven't learned any single other thing, we HAVE learned that we are EXACTLY the right someone for each other.

Happy 17th Anniversary, Coach. I adored you then, I've grown with you in the years since, and I love you absolutely, deeply and completely now.

On This Day.....

Being a sports minded sort of place around here, I thought I'd share some trivia tidbits from this date in history as they relate to the world of sports and sports minded people.

1966--The U.S. Congress approved the AFL-NFL merger.

1967--Former Washington Redskins safety Stanley Richard was born.

1976--Cincinnati Reds sweep the New York Yankees in the 73rd World Series.

1979--Ozzie Newsome begins an NFL streak of 150 consecutive game receptions.

And because we've been known to entertain a friend or two around here who aren't as into sports as we are, here are some trivia tidbits that don't relate to sports in any particular way:

1833--Alfred Nobel was born.

1897--Thomas Edison invented a workable electric light.

1972--"My Ding-A-Ling" by Chuck Berry was the #1 song on the Billboard charts.

All of these are funny little facts, its true. But perhaps my very favorite thing ever happened on this date in 1972 (and strangely enough, it wasn't Chuck Berry's silly named #1 hit song).  On this date in 1972, one of my favorite people, certainly my very favorite person over the age of 16, on the planet was born.

Happy Birthday, Coach.  I love you!

Things That Make Me Happy

I'm a fairly simple woman. Truly, I am. You can stop laughing now, Coach. You too, Austin! I really am pretty simple. I don't need diamonds and luxury cars or designer clothes to make me smile. I don't need fancy dinners out (although occasionally being treated to Panda Express is never a bad thing) or drinks you can't just twist the top off of. Really, it doesn't take much to make my heart smile all the way to my eyes.

--Listening to Jock sing along with the stereo while he's doing his homework. This makes me happy on different levels. See, he's doing his homework. On his own. And he's singing and enjoying music for what it is. The music he tends to listen to the most is classic rock, with the occasional rockin' country song thrown in there from Toby Keith or Rascal Flatts. People, much as I love my boy, I can totally admit that the only way he could carry a tune was in a bucket. He knows this, which is why he won't sing where anyone can hear him. So to hear him belting Life Is A Highway at the top of his lungs (or close to it) while he's doing homework? Is beautiful to me.

--Sharing a bowl of popcorn with Coach while we're sitting on the sofa watching TV. He always lets me have the most buttery pieces. Always.

--When my big baby Kenai (that would be my big dog, for those of you new to my little place here) ignores all the rules and his training, and climbs right up into my lap, like he was a tiny little chihuahua instead of a big German Shepherd. He just loves me and wants to show me occasionally. Or when Molly will come lay her little nose on my lap, and just look at me. She and I both know she wants to jump up into my lap and curl into as tight a ball as her little terrier/corgi body will go. Sometimes? I let her.

--Watching Bug dance. He moves to his own beat, and creates his own steps. He'll never win any contests, but he'll always feel the music in his heart and in his soul; and that's what dancing should be about.

I firmly believe that if you're going to smile, you should absolutely feel it move from your heart past your lips and into your eyes. My three guys and my two furry babies?

They make my heart smile all the way to my eyes. And I wouldn't trade any of them for all the chocolate, or Panda Express, in the world.

The Measure of A Man

I was email chatting with a friend from way back when recently. I remarked to her that knowing the kind of girl I was in high school, I never would have expected to marry the kind of man that I did. See, when I was in high school, I was super active in anything that kept me center stage. School plays, drama club, vocal performance groups. Quite aside from the fact that these all had a spotlight in common, they also shared one other thing. A serious lack of anything resembling athleticism in the traditional sense. Was it physically demanding to stand under spotlights so hot you felt like you were sitting on a metal rack near the top of the oven, with it set to broil? Absolutely. But it was simply not on the scale of running a gauntlet of defensive linemen, with a combined weight of 1000 pounds.

At the time, I thought I tended to date boys who were like me. Looking back at any relationship that actually mattered to me then, those boys all had something in common. Every single one of them either played on the football team or the baseball team. So with hindsight being 20/20, it really shouldn't come as any great shock to me that I married a man who played on his own high school football team, and has a deep, intense, abiding passion for all things organized sports.


But I'll let you in on a little secret, okay? This man? This man who has been my partner in crime and parenting for the last 17 years? This man is so much more than just a jock. Being an athlete and a coach is not all that defines him, much as he might think it does sometimes.


This is a man who adopted two rescue dogs because they looked at his wife with eyes that spoke directly to her soul.


This is a man who will still eat two servings of any meal I ruin, simply to avoid reminding me that I can't cook.


This is a man who, just because I saw a black widow hanging out on our air conditioner, sprays for spider and other creepy crawlies outside. At ten o'clock at night.

This is a man who gives up Saturday night college football for a family movie night, and lets his sons pick the movie.

This is a man with a wife who adores him, and two sons who are striving to emulate him in all things that matter. A man who is teaching by example, good example, what a husband and father should be. A man who gives up so much of his own life so that his children can look back at their life and remember that he was there for all of it. He doesn't miss games, he doesn't miss parent/teacher conferences, he doesn't miss random school ceremonies.

This is man who is so much more than just an athlete or a coach. He is just so much more. I just wanted to remind him of that.







Hosted by Cecily and Chris

The Reigns Are Slipping

I'll be the first to admit that I'm something of a control freak, especially when it comes to parenting my boys. It's a sad but true fact that absolutely drives Coach nuts. Or rather, I think it maybe did at one time but he's accustomed to it now and just lets it roll right off his back. Regardless, I do try to control just about every decision concerning the boys. Are they in trouble for some real or imagined breaking of the rules? Not if I don't think so. Should they be disciplined for something? Only if you can manage it while I'm not around. Think they should be grounded for some reason known only to you (well, okay, you might have shared that reason with me but since I'm not in agreement I probably didn't hear you)? Ha! Only until I get home and modify the terms.

So do you begin to see why it might be that Coach chooses to simply sit back and let me make all the decisions, and just inform him of the highlights?

It's not a conscious choice, actually, that I make to exclude him. At least, not anymore. In the early years of our marriage, when it was spectacularly craptastic (oh, it was... ask him; he'll agree), I really did make a conscious choice to exclude him from just about everything. We don't have but maybe one or two family pictures taken with all of us, but I've got several of just me and the boys. It was simple; I didn't want to have to cut him out of every picture we had when things eventually went south. Early on, it was a protection mechanism, I think. I made all the choices because I didn't really believe he would be around for long.

Fat lot I knew, huh?

Seventeen years later, and it's become a rather hard habit to break. Which is why I am alternately beyond frustrated and yet really rather pleased to find ourselves in the position of Coach needing to be the parent responsible for getting Bug situated with his new doctor, and navigating the murky waters that comprise a Behavioral Health involvement. Coach is now responsible for *gasp* paying attention to the doctor and *double gasp* reporting back to me just what was discussed. He is the one the doctor looks to for any questions we may have as Bug's parents, or reports of any concerns we come across. This, my friends, is a double-edged sword.

Coach came home yesterday from the first visit with the new "mental health provider" (really, shouldn't we just call them psychiatrists??), only to tell me that she wanted to send Bug for some blood work. She apparently wants to test his blood for levels of some chemical or other. And yes, that is as detailed as Coach was able to get. So imagine my frustration as I sit here wondering just what in blazes she needs to find --or not, as the case may be-- in his blood. In digging a bit more into what was discussed at the visit, we got to the family history part. While Coach told her that he didn't know of any documented instances of anything on his side, he apparently rattled off several on my side. To be fair, I think he said the only person actually diagnosed was myself. But we all know he implied that my entire family should be heavily medicated. It might have been the grin on his face as he was relaying this information to me that tipped me off.

This is not to say that I might not have said the same thing.

On the other hand, as frustrating as all of this uninvolvement is for me, I have been able to separate a bit, sit back, and take a look at what it's doing for Coach and Bug. Coach is more informed, and thus better equipped to interact with his son. He has the potential for a better understanding of why Bug does or says what he does. Coach now has the opportunity to work on his tolerance, acceptance and understanding where his up-to-now incomprehensible son is concerned. These are all very good things. Even better is what I've noticed happening with Bug. In the background while Coach was on the phone with me yesterday telling me about the doctor was Bug, laughing. A lot. Which got his dad laughing. A lot. I am so in love with my son's laugh. There is nothing in this entire world that sounds happier, or is a better balm to my stormy soul than that exact laugh.

And I will do just about anything to hear it more often. Even if it does mean I have to let go and let his dad be in charge sometimes.

He Is His Father's Son

Remember this post? It's okay if you don't, I'll wait a minute while you catch up. And.....you're back. Good. Trust me, it will all tie in together here in a minute.

It occurs to me often that Coach is, oh... stubborn. And as I think more on that, it further occurs to me that our children inherited that stubbornness. Most of the time this is proven by the battle of wills that I'm constantly taking cover from. However, occasionally I get good, solid proof that they are all busy thinking they're right (See? There's your tie-in!). Or trying to prove something. Either way it's the same thing.

Several days ago, Coach decreed that as penance for not picking up the living room to his standards, Jock would now have to not only make sure the floor was clear of all trash, stray socks and various shoes--none of which belonged to anyone other than the teenager; he would also have to vacuum the floor. And he didn't mean just running the vacuum around the furniture. Oh no. All pieces of furniture had to be moved and vacuumed under, then put back. Not about to be accused of once again not doing what he was told, Jock made sure to leave evidence of the completed job. (Here would be where I really, really wished I had some "before" pictures. Which, naturally, being the stellar snapper-of-all-possible-photographic-evidence that I am, I do not have. So try to imagine that my sofa and love seat sat at a 90 degree angle to each other, with a small end table between them, looking like a big "L", with the coffee table in front. Got it? Well, sorry. I tried.)



The stubborn yet clever teenager decided to alter the way he put the furniture back. It is now in a straight line across my living room. Dad would HAVE to acknowledge the chore well done, now, right? *sigh* You'd think so, wouldn't you? Coach, however, feels that Jock arranged the furniture the way he did simply to see what would be said about it, and if he'd be made to do it again. Correctly, this time. So, OF COURSE, he is determined to NOT say a blessed thing.



It has been over a week. We have since vacuumed again, at least around the furniture. And everything is STILL in a straight line across the back of my living room. And apparently we are conducting an experiment to see just how many dishes and other assorted stuff can fit on that end table before we clear it off.

*Please, just kindly ignore the proof of my superior housekeeping skillz. And don't tell Coach I shared them with you, okay? Thankyousomuch!*

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A Reminder

Coach and I are very different people. He's more of a "let me tell you what you did wrong so we can correct it" sort of guy, and I'm a "lets focus on what you did right so we can make sure we do that again" sort of gal. He loves Metallica, I love Trace Adkins. He's blunt, I'm more diplomatic. He likes asparagus, I like green beans. I wonder sometimes how we've made it almost 17 years together.

I suppose it could be because every time he stops at the convenience store on his way home from somewhere, he brings me a large Diet Dr. Pepper from the fountain and my favorite chocolate bar. It might be because he'll sit and watch Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure with me anytime I need to. Or it might be because he seems to understand that when I'm closeted in the bathroom for more than ten minutes, it means I'm engrossed in a really good book and he should NOT give me any grief about having disappeared for half an hour.

I guess it could be because I bring him home little treats from the grocery store each week just for him; this week, it was tapioca pudding. It might be due to my habit of making sure that each day starts and ends with a hug and a kiss, with many more in between. Possibly it might be because I still laugh at his stupid jokes and weak puns.

He doesn't make me feel bad for being a lousy housekeeper and cook. I don't pit us against each other in an IQ test. He buys me chocolate, I buy him beer. He indulges my borderline insane need to read constantly; I indulge his obsession with all things sports.

We complement each other, I think. We make the other one look good, without losing a part of ourselves in the process. He's my favorite person and my best friend. I'm his sounding board and Coach-to-Parent translator. We.... fit.

And today I just needed to remind myself of that.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

The One Coach Didn't Want Me To Write

I don't often take the time to just observe the world going on around me. I get so caught up in our lives--football and baseball games with the boys, Little League meetings, the drama and effort that comes with a marriage of over 16 years--that I simply don't register life around me. Oh, I see it. I see the neighbor down the street, walking their dog. I see the mother in the grocery store, alternately ignoring and giving in to the begging toddler in her cart. I see the kids in the neighborhood, riding their bikes up and down the street. But these are all different parts of my world. What I don't often see are people outside of my little bubble.

Coach and I spent the morning in the waiting area of a local government outreach program's office. Out of love and respect for the man I spend my nights with, I'm not going to be any more specific than that. And yes, it was a long wait. We got there before 9 AM, and didn't get out of there until after 11. All that waiting for a very brief, literally six-minute consultation at the front window. Rather anti-climactic, really.

But oh! That waiting period. The things I saw and heard. The many variations of humanity I witnessed. The life I got to see.

There was the tired looking mother, pushing the stroller back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; never even stopping when she had to reach down and pick up the baby doll that had carelessly been thrown to the ground. Again. The bone-deep sigh when she discovered that her child had somehow managed to amputate the arm of that poor little doll.

The older gentleman, wearing a tattered old army flak jacket. His weathered, scruffy face and slow, stooped and shaky gait seemed so at odds with the gentle smile he kept directing towards that stroller. I imagined I could almost see his memories of his own children at that age. And every time he spoke, it was softly and with so much respect, I truly felt humbled.

The older woman sitting in front of me, who seemed to be wearing an expression of such sad confusion. She occasionally rocked back and forth in her seat, and her expression would look just a little more perplexed; almost like she was trying to work something out in her mind.

The two young women behind me, bonding over the fact that one of them lived in the same area and belonged to the same gang that the other's boyfriend was in. They were talking about their babies, and when they were due. They talked about how they both really needed to stop getting in so many fights now that they were pregnant. Not out of any concern for the babies, but because they agreed that jail was no good place to be pregnant.

Or the young woman across the room, desperately flirting with the apparently single young man sitting two chairs down. Despite the fact that she looked to be about 6 months pregnant. What he saw (as he remarked upon to the girls sitting behind me after she left) was someone with a grating sense of humor, who was full of herself, and who admitted to having no idea who the father of her baby was. What I saw was a young woman with no faith in herself trying too hard to make someone, anyone, like her; and apparently had been trying that for quite some time.

I sat there in that room, with my head on Coach's shoulder, wishing myself anywhere else but there. We didn't fit in there, we stuck out like a sore thumb in that room full of people who needed to be there. And then it occurred to me that WE needed to be there. We were no better or worse than these people. Everyone in that room was there because somewhere along the highway of their life, they had hit a pothole and needed some help to get moving again. I'm not naive enough to believe that everyone in that room would willingly use that helping hand as it was intended and make it their mission NOT to come back to that roomful of chairs and life stories. Not everyone will have the ability to do that, either. No, some of these people will be there, week after week; month after month; year after year, for reasons that I will never know.

I'm one of the determined ones, though. I will, God willing, be given the help we need to get to a point where we don't need that help anymore. But you know what? I'm thankful for the time I spent in that room this morning. I got to witness a side of humanity that I have not often been witness to. And I was reminded of every blessing I have in my life right now.

My boys, who don't often complain about the situation we're in. They don't ask for new clothes or new shoes, or to go out to dinner. They're happy eating ramen noodles and tuna casserole. I know who their daddy is, and even after 16 years he is still the man I go to bed with each night and share the highs and lows of my days with. I guess I take them all for granted sometimes, and needed reminding. I really am truly blessed.

So why wouldn't Coach want me to share that with you all?

Missed It By THAT Much......

Roughly six years or so ago, Coach and I made the decision (aided somewhat by some medical opinions we valued, and by the fact that my body was very adamantly and aggressively recommending a particular course of action) to ensure that we could have no more children. Well, we ensured that he and I together could have no more, and that I could have no more with another man, should that be a chosen route in the future. Coach, being the forward thinking man that he is, left himself the option for future children with another, less likely to be perfect for him, woman.

In plain speaking, that means that a little over 6 years ago, I had a hysterectomy. I was absolutely, positively 100% ok with that decision. After all, it wasn't like my body was giving me any real choice in the matter. (And since I'm not sure I really want to risk losing the three of you that still read my blog, I'll go into no further details of that other than to say that had I chosen to retain my silly little uterus, I would have begun a very painful journey to constant misery, followed up by probable non-existence in the event we ever got pregnant again. Really, it was a no-brainer choice on my part.) Oh sure, when I was younger and in the earlier years of our marriage, I wanted at least 3 kids. (Ok, really I grew up thinking I wanted six.) And in my heart of hearts I always kind of wanted a little girl for Coach to spoil, and for me to actually get to teach things to. You know, growing up kinds of things. But overall, stopping with the two boys was a good decision.

Coach had said from the very beginning that he only wanted two boys. He knew, just knew, that each of our pregnancies were boys. Having turned out that way, let me tell you that it gave him a fairly big head that I've had to poke with a pair of scissors to deflate occasionally. But he was happy having two boys, and claims no desire to have a daughter.

Until recently. When he made a comment in the grocery store that just about had him walking home that day.

We were walking down the family planning aisle, and he oh-so-casually mentions that he wishes I could get pregnant again. I'm busy thinking that I'd be ok with that, too, as that would have meant a botched surgery all those years ago; and a botched surgery would have meant I'd have a killer medical malpractice lawsuit that I could actually win! *sigh* Sadly, he followed his original comment up with the following statement:

I'd really like to have a daughter, you know?

I stopped right in the middle of the aisle and turned and looked at him. (Sometimes I genuinely believe that man lives ... lives, I tell you!... to burst my bubble. Repeatedly.) I'm relatively positive that I looked like one of those wall-mounted fish, just staring at him with my mouth wide open. All I could do was stand there.

And the fish look? Was wasted on him, since he never even looked at me, just kept moving on down the aisle. If I'd have had any canned goods in that cart, I think I might be a widow right about now.

In Case You Were Wondering Where I've Been.....

I know, I know. I've been so bad about posting regularly lately that I think even my most loyal of blog friends has just about given up on me. How some of you manage to have a daily life with jobs and/or kids, and still post amazingly lucid and entertaining posts is completely beyond me. If you have a secret, could you share? (And if it's just that your kids are much more entertaining than mine, can I borrow them for a week or two?)

Let me (try) to get you a bit caught up on life here in the locker room, ok?

Bug..... It was discovered with great hilarity this week that he is just about as tall as I am. I'm still not quite sure how that happened, as I routinely try not to feed him. (I just realized how bad that actually sounds. People, if you can't read the sarcasm in there.... well, you just don't know me. And if you don't know me, you might benefit from the knowledge that my kids? EAT.CONSTANTLY. Seriously, they eat everything in the house. Which wreaks havoc on my grocery bill, you know?)

We also attended the big-deal presentation at the local middle school for parents of next year's incoming 6th graders. Now, it could just be me, but I'm having a really hard time accepting my baby being old enough for Junior High School. I spent a portion of that evening crying sad little mama tears, while hiding in the bathroom. Needless to say, Bug is totally stoked about this whole growing up thing. Me? Not so much.

Jock..... Well, after a grueling three weeks of baseball training camp and a long week of stressful tryouts, we are beyond thrilled to tell everyone that he made the team! Trust me when I tell you that we seriously needed this bright spot right now. On the down side, it means I now have to go find (please God!) inexpensive white cleats and white baseball pants, as that is required for the team. On the plus side of that? There really isn't much that beats an afternoon sitting in the bleachers watching him play ball.

As amazing as I think my kids are (and I really do feel so incredibly fortunate with these two---the respect with which they treat other people, the unselfish way they seem to "get" our current financial situation, the hugs and cuddles every night, and the way they are both just turning into phenomenal young men), sometimes the conversations we have just boggle my mind. Especially when they are conducted via text, where there's actual proof of the lack of ... whatever.

Me (upon noticing that my house seemed to be missing one of it's children): Hey? Were you thinking of letting your mama know when you were going to be home? Cuz I'll pull rank and just tell you when if I don't hear from you. Also? Where are you? (and yes, I typed that all out. I have a very low tolerance for text-speak.)
Jock: Dad didn't tell you?
Me (realizing that yes, Dad HAD told me where he was. He had also admitted to not telling him when to be home, however, and knowing that sometimes the best way to get the teenager to tell me anything is to not admit I already know it): Dude, would I be asking you if he had?
Jock: I'm at Joe's (no, not his real name... and I apparently don't have enough creative brain cells left to give him something more clever. *sigh*) And he just said to call.
Me: Which you haven't. Or we wouldn't be having this conversation.
Jock: Oh. Didn't think I had to.

I paused for a moment here, just to laugh. Really? He didn't think he had to? Huh.

Me: Um, yes. If you're told to, that means you have to.

And then I just told him when to be home, as that would be when dinner would most likely be ready. Signed off with a typical mom comment of I love you.

He came back with Love you, too.

And just like that, I melted. No shock there, is there?

Coach..... Well, baseball season started. Baseball season tends to suck all possible free time from our lives here. Coach spent most of the past two weeks at various baseball tryouts, drafts and meetings. We have a couple of weeks until it really kicks in gear, and then there's no real time to stop and catch your breath until late July, I think. That's ok, though. Keeps him happy. And when he's happy, he does things like vacuum and cook dinner for me. So I'm all about keeping him happy.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! May you recognize the hidden Valentine's in your everyday life, and melt for them all at just the right moments.

Now, if only someone would manage to smuggle me a box of conversation hearts.......

The Measure of a Man

As Coach and I attempt to raise our boys into men we can be proud of, who --more importantly-- can be proud of themselves, I find myself asking What makes a man?

Is it having a job, working himself to the weariest point of his soul, to ensure he brings home a paycheck?

Is it fiddling with the cars, coaxing them with MacGuyver-like ingenuity to go just one more mile?

Is it taking what little free time he does have, and spending it teaching kids the games he loves so much, hoping to instill in at least one of them the same passion for the sport that he has?

Is it uncomplainingly wielding the vaccuum, day after day, to keep up with the dog hair? Making sure the dishes get done each day? Willingly making dinner so that his wife can help the kids with homework? Or how about helping out with homework himself?

There are so many things that make a man a good man. Respect for others, the ability to let other's disrespect roll off your back and not make you bitter, consistently doing the right thing not just the easiest thing. Holding your wife for just a minute longer at the end of the day, or pulling her close for a stolen snuggle moment in the morning before you both get out of bed. Being sure to tell your kids you love them every day.

My boys could not possibly have a better guide into manhood than the man they call Dad. And I am more thankful for that than he can possibly ever know.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Power Struggle

Coach and I have a pretty good marriage. Well, now we do. I might have mentioned a time or two that the first 12 years or so really were not so enjoyable. Anyway, things are good now. While we don't always agree on everything (and let's face it, no one ever really wants to be married to someone that never, ever, disagrees with them), we don't often seriously disagree.

Except when it comes to this. This? Is a constant power struggle between us.

And I will go on the record right now as saying one thing.

Coach? Is WRONG. He completely does this wrong.

Which is why I correct it every time I walk in and sit down. And I'm not exaggerating by much when I say EVERY time. Because that man? Is insistent he's right. But we all know he's not. And knowing that is enough for me.

That, and reminding him I'm right.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Oh How I've Missed You

I've missed Photo Story Fridays. I really have. I've missed telling part of the story of my family, illustrated in the unique way only my kids seem to be able to inspire.

So in thinking about what I could jump back in with, I was going through a lot of ideas. I've done a lot of PSF's about Jock. Quite frankly, he's easy to write about. Never a non-memorable moment with that teenager. I've probably got at least half a dozen different things I could embellish on right at this moment. (For instance, did you know that getting a girlfriend, one that you keep for over a month and invite to spend a Saturday evening at your house hanging out and watching movies with your family, is apparently a wonderfully huge incentive to clean your room? And I mean CLEAN, as in move furniture, throw away ALL trash, vacuum and take dishes with strange science project type things growing on them to the kitchen type of clean? If you don't yet have a teenager, I'd suggest you remember this tidbit and pull it out at some point in the future.)

Bug is always good for a laugh, or one of those smiles that make you feel like you're both laughing and crying at the same time. (He's been borrowing Jock's portable CD player to take to school the last few days, as he's "reading" a book on CD -side note? Excellent part of his 504 Plan! He still follows along with the CD in the book, and doesn't get bored because the story is being acted out as they read.- and his own disc player is somehow missing the battery casing back. He discovered Jock's disc player was NOT in his backpack tonight, and called me in tears. Turns out Jock had actually gotten in the backpack and taken it out himself, but Bug was scared to ask him, because if Jock HADN'T been the one to take it.... well, Bug would have just alerted his brother to the part where the CD player was missing, now, wouldn't he?)


I even get the occasional good story out of something Coach has done. (You know he's out of work, right? Well, I came home tonight to an awesomely sparkly kitchen. He even pulled out the stove and cleaned under and around it. The thought of what he saw terrifies me. On the other hand, apparently inviting the teenager's girlfriend over for an evening, in addition to inspiring a clean room for the teenager ALSO inspires dads to get in touch with their inner MollyMaid.)



Just look at these three. Can you blame me for constantly using them to illustrate my life? It's fitting, since they ARE my life.


Welcome back, Photo Story Friday.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek