Good Enough

It’s a character-building day for my youngest son. It’s not something that’s 

easy to watch as a parent, and my heart breaks just a little for him. But my brain 

knows that my tougher-than-nails boy will be even stronger for this later.

It’s really not a bad thing. We’re attending a tryout for a sports team in 

another city. We are far outside his normal comfort zone. And, we are not here 

because he asked to come. We are here because we let him know it wasn’t a choice 

to attend. It’s not because we are dead set on him making some team, although that 

may be a choice he gets to make down the road. It’s about much more than that.

Here’s the problem. Our son is a social, outgoing, friend-centered middle 

schooler. No kid in middle school wants to do anything different than the rest of the 

gang, to strike out on your own can be social suicide. So of course his first question 

about this try out is, “Will any of my friends be there?”

Our answer, “We don’t know. This isn’t about your friends, it’s about you.” 

He is a talented athlete and student, who relies on natural ability for a majority of 

what he does in life. But as talented as we know he is, he just doesn’t see it. He 

sorely lacks self-confidence. And while he has had a few experiences to test his 

mettle, there haven’t been many like this.

So, here we stand in a lobby full of people milling about. I can feel the 

nervous energy sparking throughout the room. I see my boy standing silently 

beside me, scanning the room. There are no familiar faces to cut the tension. He 

is completely on his own. Not a friend in sight. I know he’s feeling a lot of things 

but among them is not happiness. He’s far outside his safe zone and mad at me for 

placing him here.

I start to feel my resolve slipping, and for just a minute I give in to that look I 

see in his eyes. 

But, we’re forging ahead, because here’s the deal. In life, there are many 

uncertainties. You will face many challenges for which you need to be armed with 

knowledge. You need the knowledge you gain from attending math and science 

classes and reading about history. But you also need self-knowledge. Who are you 

as a person? How do you respond to personal challenges? What’s inside you that 

you can reach in deep for at times of doubt?

Self-discovery of this nature isn’t easy to come by. And the best way I know 

to learn is to have as many experiences as you possibly can, to navigate as many 

situations as you can when you have no one else to rely on but yourself. Then, when 

you come out on the other side you may find that along with relief that it’s over, you 

feel something else too. You may find that you’ve discovered something about 

yourself that you didn’t know before. Something you can draw on, and build on, in 

the future.

Am I naïve to think a sports tryout can do all that? I don’t think so. I 

recognize now, as an adult, that so many challenges I’ve faced in my life could have 

been handled much differently if I had faced my own fear a time or two in a safe and 

controlled way, with a challenge like this.

When he finally walks out, sweaty, happy to be done, and ready to go home 

and I ask, “How’d it go?”

I already know the answer. Because regardless of whether he lands on a 

team or not, I know he’s already won.

I say to my son, “You don’t know this now, but you are going to be in many, 

many situations in life where you’re going to have that feeling you had today again, 

and going through this now may come in handy later.” 

The fact is we all need this. To be self-confident, self-assured, and able to 

represent yourself in uncomfortable situations takes practice. It doesn’t happen by 

accident alone. There will be moments when mental fortitude will pay off and the 

strongest guy will have the edge.

This is training for that, something we can’t manufacture at home, or in a 

practice, or at school. This is the most valuable training money can buy when it 

comes to living through a situation you just aren’t sure you can survive, and then 

you do. That is personal growth you can’t measure on any chart. It’s much more than 

making a team or not making a team.

This is building a foundation. This is building from the inside out, the bottom 

up. This is preparing at it’s most basic, because if you don’t know who you are 

than no one will. So, my little pal, today is just for you, as painful as it may feel. All 

those other people around me don’t matter. All I see is you. And I know we’ve laid 

another brick in a pretty solid foundation!

Bustin' Onto The Scene

          We are celebrating small victories. It’s the most basic things in our lives that have come into full focus the last three weeks since we have brought home the new baby. I forgot how the entire universe shifts a bit for that tiny little being. No, this time it’s not a human baby.   

              This time it’s of the four legged variety. He came in a 12 pound, tail wagging, floppy eared, explosion of fluff, blond, clumsy body. He captured our hearts from the moment we laid eyes on him, but life as we knew it before that moment came to a screeching halt.

       He is Buster. When he rolled out of his kennel the first day we met him he had the roundest balloon belly we could imagine, a playful excited greeting, and a snuggly disposition that we thought was just about the perfect combination for a family pet. So our decision really wasn’t a decision at all. We all agreed in that first instant we laid eyes on him, that he would be the perfect fit to fill the gaping hole in our family left from the passing of our dog Bucky last spring.

           But I must say I completely forgot what it was like to baby proof the house. That sure didn’t take long to come rushing back though. I instantly remembered when the kids were first learning to move around the house, little accidents waiting to happen, every thing in their path, first deposited directly into their mouthes with lightening speed. I remember then too, like now, how inventive we all became in order to get anything done around here. All the small little daily tasks seemed monumental. Suddenly, just brushing your teeth, or taking a shower, or changing out of your bath robe was a tiny little victory. I remember thinking I would never again be able to accomplish a wardrobe change, complete with hair and make up all in one day. I also remember thinking surely I was the only one unable to function normally with this small new little person sucking away my attention.

               But of course you learn to adapt. And we are once again doing just that with this new baby in the house. It seems many of those old coping skills are coming back to me in a pretty handy way. Just as I did with my boys when they were babies, I am forced to be inventive, see the world around me through new eyes. I’ve re-discovered how many incidental items around the house become make-shift entertainment gems when you really need to get the dishes done, or dinner made or laundry folded. I remember how the cabinet with all the pots and pans was gold when I needed just 15 or 20 minutes to myself, wooden spoons as mallets, pie tins as cymbals, pots as drums and joyful music as entertainment to sing our way through chores. 

                 Today, I discovered an old Disney coffee mug and a plastic water bottle waiting for recycling, as the perfect toys for a puppy to chase about the kitchen for just enough time to accomplish cleaning up breakfast and loading the dishwasher. Mission accomplished.
Of course the babies wore diapers, and this one doesn’t, which presents it’s own set of challenges. 

                     But in spite of the demands that now stretch the family to new limits, that send us racing about the house after this crazy bundle of energy, that test our patience, nerves, and will on a daily basis, the rewards, we all know, will be worth it in the end. They already are.
       
                 Just as I remember gazing at our peaceful sleeping bundles of joy all those years ago as babies, it’s pretty similar now, when Buster finally does surrender to the inevitable nap, huge paws limp, ears flipped and belly exposed. That familiar feeling of love mixed with exhausted pride and accomplishment come rushing back. The little daily victories, lost without a baby in the house to remind you how much you can do as a multi-tasker. Yep, he’s a keeper. But it’s nap time. Either I should be napping too, or I need to stop admiring his cuteness, and work at warp speed to get everything checked off the list today that needs to be checked.

Sounds of Silence

There is music on the walk with my dog today.  Finally, after this eternally long winter, the birds are singing.  What an amazing sound it is.  It feels busy and alive. I actually have a physical reaction -- a direct shot of endorphins to my body. Our puppy stops to listen too.  It sounds different, fresh and new and joyful.  All the things winter was not. It gives me hope.  It fills me with the reassurance that nature hasn’t let me down, and spring renewal is coming.  That’s something worth breathing in for more than a second.

For the quiet months of winter, the dog and I had mostly silent walks.  The woodpeckers were even quiet.  We have had so much snow, that mostly we listened to the sound of my boots crunching along, every step a battle against a bitter harsh world.    

There was one thing that broke the monotony of it. Some nights under clear skies and a bright moon, we got a treat. We have a couple of owls in the neighborhood.  I’m sure they watched from their silent perch, every time we braved the cold for an evening walk.  But on occasion they spoke, deep and low and slow.  Back and forth they called, Whooooo. Whoooo. 

If your not paying attention you’ll miss it altogether.  It’s very subtle, much too quiet to echo.  But it does, inside me.  Each time I hear them I feel unbelievably lucky to be present in that moment.  But there is something else.  Something about their tone, and the notes they sing .  It’s truly like they are speaking directly to me.  Only I can’t understand.  I long to know what they’re feeling.  Are they happy or sad, are they lonely or content?  It calms and haunts at the same time somehow.

Maybe it touches my heart so deeply because of the similarity to something else in my world today.  Our life blessed with a sometimes moody but mostly sweet, thoughtful, and by all accounts typical teenager is a little like living with a soulful hoot owl; emerging from time to time to speak, but most times, staring silently at the world around him.  As hard as I try to understand, much of what happens in his quiet world lies just beyond my reach.  Our conversations usually touch on the surface things, “How was your day?”

“How was your test?”

“What was for lunch?”

We don’t get much deeper than that, even though I know there’s a lot more going on in that head.  It’s nothing different than what any other parent of a teenager goes through I suppose, but that doesn’t make it any easier to encounter those big round eyes I’ve been gazing into since he was an infant, looking back at me with a curious unfamiliar stare that covers up so much.  And I wonder, are you happy or sad, content or lonely?  You can ask, but what you get back will be pretty similar to what I’m hearing from somewhere high and lost in the trees of my neighborhood.  You have to pay attention, or miss your chances at understanding any of it.

It leaves me with no choice but to trust in nature, and trust in the groundwork we’ve laid in all our years of parenting to date.  Trust the village we’ve surrounded him with, the positive influences he has available to reach out to if he needs to.  It leaves me calm and haunted at the same time, somehow trusting that he will find his way, but realizing that watching from my distance is so much harder than it was to walk it myself as a teenager.  Trust that all this snow will eventually melt and the birds will sing and spring will once again let us know that we’ve made it through a long journey safe and sound on the other side. 

Play Ball!

“Where’s my jersey?”

“Hurry, we are gonna be late!”

 “Mom, what if enough players don’t show up?”

It’s first game jitters.  I’m used to it.  It happens every new season for every sport.  But this time it’s different.  This team is completely new to us, so we don’t know anything about the players, or what position people like to play, or even anyone’s name!  And for the first time, both of my boys are playing on the same team.  It’s an exciting day!

The kids are a little nervous, and anxious so we head out early.

As I expected, all their worries slip away as soon as they step foot on that familiar ground, the soft green grass, the storied white-lined pea gravel path to home plate, the safe and familiar dug out, where so many high’s and low’s are celebrated and buried side by side. 

It doesn’t matter that this is West Madison Little League and we typically play for another Little League.  It doesn’t matter that there is an age disparity.  It doesn’t matter that the skill levels are all over the map.  It’s just another baseball game.  It’s just another day at the ballpark. 

That’s why it’s brilliant.  Taking kids just like my sons, who can’t imagine summer without a ball and bat, who literally live out of our car for days during baseball season, who know players far and wide and tell the tales of their triumphant plays or dismal losses, and pairing them alongside kids who might not otherwise get the chance to play baseball, without this team.

This is the Challenger League.  This is baseball at it’s most basic, most pure, most beautiful.   It’s real baseball.  Every player here is focused on everything they can do, not what they can’t.  No one notices if any player is more talented than the next, no one cares how they stack up.  They just want their chance to compete, and play.

And on this first game of the season, my able-bodied boys along with dozens of others, buddy up with players that have varying life challenges some physical some not, and they play baseball.  That’s it.  Simple as that. 

            Every single player may not know the rules to this game, or even care about them.  But they do know the thrill of standing before a crowd of cheering fans.  Some of them give a shy wave while others take a bow.  Everyone on each team bats with their buddy.  Everyone on each team makes it around each base and eventually comes home with their buddy, some with elaborate sliding techniques obviously given in-depth thought during the week leading up to the game.  Everyone plays the field with their buddy.  No one makes mistakes, there are only good plays, good hits, and everyone cheers for everyone.

But of course what I witness happening out there on the field is much bigger than just a game.  These players hit the field with enthusiasm, attitude, competitive spirit, and the most pure desire for a chance to play the game. They hit, they run the bases, they chase down fly balls and line drives, they sweat, they cheer, they smile, they high five, they celebrate.  They deliver everything you’d hope to see at a baseball game in 3 innings of play.

To get the chance to be a part of that truly is priceless. Every challenger player on the field wins, not because their team scored more runs, but because they competed in the game, felt the thrill of the challenge, and soaked up the feeling of a job well done.

And every challenger buddy walks off a winner too, because you can’t truly appreciate your own sport until you play along side those who can remind you, why you love the game.  This is the moment you see everything more clearly.  You run side by side those familiar base paths, sometimes with the hand of another human being in yours, who wants that thrill that you can guide them to, as you round each base, even if it’s on wheels, who looks to you for reassurance and affirmation that they are a part of the team.  You shout with excitement as the ball heads in your player’s direction, and celebrate the thrill of their effort, not your own, making the play.   

And you realize that the dreams of playing sports are not only your dreams but theirs too, and suddenly the world feels just a little smaller because you played a game.

Summer Love!

A few weeks back my youngest and I found ourselves spending the day just the two of us.  It doesn’t happen very often and what made it even more rare was that we had nothing special on the calendar, just a whole day to hang out doing as we pleased.  We decided on a mid afternoon movie, had lots of laughs, and enjoyed every minute of it.  Then, and I’m not even sure how this happened, just when I thought I’d squeezed out every ounce of enjoyment I could from a day like that, I found myself holding hands with my son as we walked to our car…just like that…like it happens every day! 

         Of course, the truth is, it used to happen every day, years ago.  And like so many other little routine things that happened back then, I took it for granted, unable to appreciate then that it would not last forever.  But not this time, this was one of those fleeting moments when all of my senses were on high alert.  I could actually feel a calm awareness take over my body allowing me to calmly breath in the full awareness of what I held in my hand; a special gift that I should fully appreciate for each second I could before letting go. 

I wanted time to stand still. It took me back, just for a few seconds, to the days of squeezing those sticky fingers between my own to do any old random thing. 

  Or the time I didn’t grab hold and he darted right into the street, narrowly avoiding the front bumper of a thankfully alert driver’s car, the feeling of both shock and relief when I scooped him up safe in my arms.  Back to the time when each chubby finger had its own dimple instead of a knuckle, where I often would leave a lipstick reminder of “I love you” before heading out the door for work.  That spot where I would rub my thumb back and forth, connected together in a way you can’t truly appreciate until you don’t have the chance to do it any more.

            So, for this little slice of heaven to slide quietly into my grasp for just a few seconds, I would gladly give up many other things.  And then, just like that, we hopped in the car and went on with our day, almost like it never happened. 

But I know it did.  And I know that those glimpses of “little boy” are getting further apart and I had better pay attention or I will miss some of the last looks I’m going to get at the real treasures of summer, when the days are long, and I can catch them being little a few more times.  

 This summer I’m spending a little time quietly observing whenever I find the chance.

I love when I can sneak away to a quiet spot where they don’t know I am even on the planet, and I can watch them at play.  Oh, I know the rules. I have been instructed that it must be referred to as “hanging out”, not “playing”, at this advanced age they’ve attained.  But I know what I see.

One moment, they are couched down hiding behind a tree or fence, the next they spring up and sprint off in another direction.  I catch them tip toeing past and shake my head in conspiracy as they quietly indicate with one finger that we must be very quiet because the hunt is on and we will be doomed if they are discovered! Their feet are bare and grass stained.  They don’t know or don’t care that the mosquito population is getting fat off of them.  They have no idea they are filling the entire neighborhood with echoes.

            It’s the best part of summer and I am in the heart of it, managing sunscreen, band aides, fireflies, and swimsuits and towels littering the porch. It’s the best love affair I know of kids and their summer vacation and I want to hang on to being a part of it as long as I can, crouched here in my hiding place where I’m hoping I won’t be found!

Freeze! Cheese!

“Mom, make him stop!”

            It’s the catch phrase of the summer of 2013.  The act is old, I shoot the familiar annoyed-mom-look at both of them.  This time we are in the waiting room at the doctor’s office and the victimizer is snapping phone photos of the victim and threatening to post them on various social media.

            It’s on the top-ten-list of ways to annoy your sibling these days.  The old fashioned ways still exist, the one’s I once had perfected with my own brother, excessive touching, entering the off limits bedroom, taking clothing items without permission, and being generally annoying by making various and repetitive sounds, signs, or natural body functions in the general direction of the other.

            But, there are also more evolved methods of getting the other sibling annoyed.

“Mom, make him stop reading my texts!”

“Why did you tweet THAT?”

“Why are you friending all MY friends?”

“Look at this picture of you!” Followed by hilarious laughter from one and “Mom!” from the other.

            Seriously they have to be the most photographed and photo centered generation of all time.  From the now perfected “selfie”, to photos that magically disappear into thin air, to “Mom, look what I just posted!” so the world can fully appreciate a close up look at the soda we ordered for lunch.

            Perhaps one consolation is they won’t have the issues of my generation.  We took plenty of our own bizarre and inane photos but they had to be printed to enjoy them. Then, if you’re like my family, many wound up in shoeboxes stashed in closets full of all sorts of memories.

            What do you do with that?  Can I part with those heart-felt connections to the past, the one where I’m collecting gravel from the driveway in my sticky little 2 year old hand? 

 Or the strangely frightening doll I got at that birthday party with kids from a neighborhood where we only lived until I was four years old?  What do you do with the random group photos where mom was looking the other way, usually talking to someone off camera? Or the photo of us in the back yard but we are so small and black and white that you can’t really make out what we were doing. Or the great uncle at that one family reunion that one year, or my cousin’s children when they were babies, or the great scenery shots of Silver Dollar City in 1972?  It’s usually so overwhelming that I simply slam the lid back on the box and walk away, saving that little project for another day!

            The shocking antithesis to what’s happening on my children’s electronics is hanging in my hallway.   They are the old photos, taken back when cameras were mysterious pieces of machinery. Those standing before you put thought and planning into what would be in front of that lens.  These photos are workhorses, they tell an entire story.  I love them for that.   They are rare treasures.

            I know every inch of the picture of my grandparents when they were courting because I’ve stared at it and studied it for years.   

Grandpa, a carpenter, had a band-aid on his thumb.  I can tell Grandma’s dress was fancy, maybe silk, because of the way the light hits it in the breeze, and it was summer, warm, they were happy and carefree.  It’s all there in that photo.  Romance, mystery, nostalgia, hopes, dreams, everything you need for a good novel is right there captured in that instant in time.

            I guess the new challenge for my kids and their photo chatting generation will be finding that; the perfect balance of cool and nonchalance my grandparents had without even trying. 

  Finding a way to really see, through the sea of pictures a special one, that has it’s own heartbeat; the one that has a thousand words worth of story to tell, their story to tell, for their grandkids to frame.   

            

Maybe that’s impossible.  Maybe the day is gone when one single picture can do all that.  Maybe my kids are just that much more sophisticated than me that they will be able to glean blissful pleasure out of the tidal wave of photos they have of themselves and every incidental item they own.

And, just maybe, my son’s grand kids will truly appreciate a photo of my son’s socks.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

I have a lot more blooming in my garden this year than ever before, and fewer weeds too!   It’s a sign.  I’ve been digging around out in the yard a lot more this year because it’s therapeutic.  It’s where I go when I need to work things out, and lately there’s been a lot to work on.  First of all, spring is graduation season, so I’m automatically nostalgic to begin with. It happens every year, I can easily be brought to tears just by seeing grads in their cap and gown, even when I don’t know them, because I know if I blink there will be faces I do know under there. But, this year, I have the added incentive to of also seeing my own first-born say so long to Middle School.  He’s all set to stroll into the new world of High School next fall to begin his own adventures and the count down to his own cap and gown wearing moment. So those final weeks of Middle School were especially bittersweet.  Each day that his promotion got closer, I dug deeper into the soil that would hold transplanted Hostas and daffodil bulbs, planters that I moved time and again to find just the right home, and flower beds that haven’t been weeded like this in years.  

But, even though I like the finished product, that’s not really all that I’m after out here in the garden.  I’m really here for the digging.  It doesn’t even matter if it’s with a shovel or rake or no tools at all. Just give me the dirt, because, at the end of the day, while my back may ache, my head will feel so much better.  There’s a whole lot more than anybody realizes buried out there with those roots.  Every worry, every nightmare, every silly angry frustration is covered up right next to every big dream, and excited plan and every little thing I needed time to accept a little more gracefully.  All buried in my garden.

That’s why it’s my favorite place.

But also because, not that many years ago quite a bit of our digging happened in this very same spot with much smaller shovels and much smaller worries.  I didn’t do quite as much actual gardening back then, but we got in a lot of digging.  When the kids were little we spent way too many hours to count filling pails to the top, digging deep holes, building castles and elaborate cities and big dreams, here in the sand box.  Many a day we were much too busy to quit our digging to take time for a snack so we would picnic on apples and cheerios right here next to the tools.  And, how many times did the adventure outgrow the sand box and take over the entire swing set, swings, slide and all?

Jake was just a baby when we first got it and from his little swing he witnessed thousands of pretend pirate ship sword fights, super hero rescues, and wild adventures that all stemmed from the imagination of his older brother.

And later, he would march out to sit on these swings every single day, sometimes even in the snow, just to lean back and then lean forward, pulling himself into that rhythm that helped him silently navigate all sorts of childhood moods both happy and not.

That’s why, it’s almost like an old friend has gone away, now that our old swing set has found a new home.  I hear echoes of “Higher!”  in the empty dirt ruts where they dragged their feet when we pushed them on their swings. “Weeee!” where the slide landing spot used to be. I couldn’t be more delighted to see our old pal, power washed and good as new, sitting there in that new yard, and two tiny bobbing blond heads racing toward it, pig tails flying as they run to dig into fresh sand, and swing from those same swings and dream big dreams.  I’m thrilled about that new beginning. But it sure has given me a great big spot in my own yard to get busy digging again.