Our holidays are guaranteed to be filled with love and laughter. We hope the same for you and yours.
You have a style and a flair about you that is undeniable.
You are a dreamer.
You’re charming to sit and pass time with.
Your smile lights up the room and is highly contagious.
You’ve weathered this most recent storm with grace…and love.
The empathy you’ve embraced this year, towards your brother especially, warms my heart.
You are witty and engaging. I can’t even imagine the places some of your ideas come from, but it must be wondrous.
Your heart is light, your ideas are silly, and your attitude is infectious.
Happy Birthday, little girl. We all love you…always.
This is my promise to you guys.
There are a lot of storms out there in the world.
But in our home, you will find peace.
You will find solace.
When the waters get stormy
and things don’t make sense, we’ll row together
to get to a place where the water is placid.

Mike and I will shelter you from the rain.
We will fight the dragons together.
The moat around our castle will be nothing but a lazy river,
where you can safely imagine your future,
develop your dreams and build your
character to make all things good happen for you.
Every spring/summer my son plays baseball. He loves it. Is he the best on his team, not even close, but he plays with heart. He’s out there because he wants to be out there. He’s been with the same team for years. We lose a few players every year. Some move on to the select leagues, some quit out of not really loving the game…but essentially they’ve become a tight crew. They have a pattern. They aren’t really in it the first few innings usually, by the third, they’ve hit their rhythm…and if the whole they’ve dug for themselves isn’t too deep, they win. They win as a team.
Baseball season is a true commitment, even for me. Practices, games, driving here and there. Laundry three times a week to be sure his uniform is always clean. It’s a commitment for Bear. When other kids are going to the pool during they day, he stays home on game days so that he’s not too tired to play. When you get to the field, you have to be up. You have to be ready. The heat can’t hold you back. Rain can’t hold you back. You have to have desire. He does…every day. Every year, I wonder, will he not want to play this year. Is this the year he grows tired of the commitment, of the rigor, of the effort…and every year, he’s eager and excited to sign up.
This year was no different. He played hard. He improved.
I was proud of him.
I was proud of the team.
I was proud of the coaches.
Until last night.
The head coach was out. The team was playing for third place against a select team. They’d beat this team before and could do it again. They were up 8 to 3 at the top of the 4th inning. My son rode the bench. By the middle of the 5th inning, he came over to the end of the dugout and asked the crowd if he was “the worst baseball player ever” and broke into tears. This still breaks my heart. This team is a pay to play team. They are not select. It’s about teaching young men to learn and love baseball. Sometimes winning happens, sometimes it doesn’t. But the back-up coaches didn’t get that last night. They failed to play about 4 or 5 of the boys fairly, because they’re not the STAR players. They took a time out and removed a player from right field when a left-handed batter came up. They broke the spirit of the boys that had gotten them to the semi-finals. Even the good players, saw what was happening and weren’t happy about it. They went too far for the win.
I know some people wished all season long that the head coach had done more reprimanding or held more practices, to make the boys EVEN BETTER. But this coach understood that his job was to keep the boys improving, interested and enjoying the game. He taught them that they win as a team and they lose as a team. These other coaches forgot that. These other coaches, in a few thoughtless actions and words, crushed the dreams of impressionable boys on the verge of becoming men. Through their actions, they taught the boys that you can sacrifice anything as long as you want to win enough. That’s not why my son plays baseball. He plays for the uniform. He plays for his team. He plays for the love of the game. I love seeing him in his uniform. I love watching the boys learn over the course of the season how to play like a team.
Much like the trash man, I’m one day late in my posting cycle…Hope your fourth was as fabulous as ours. We were reminded this weekend how great our friends are, how wonderful our neighborhood is, and what a loving family we have. Thanks to my 2 and 4 (if only for one more day) year old nieces this song was in our head all weekend.
I’m BAAAAACK! It’s been a crazy 2011, what with wedding planning and such. But the wedding is over and there’s so much to say about these kids of mine. I miss writing here. I miss sharing it with the kids. I hope they miss coming here and reading this. So here’s the plan. I’ll be diligently meeting at least a few good posts frequently.
1. Music Monday – A quick post (and maybe a youtube video) of one of the kids or our family’s favorite songs. Music is very important in this house. Why not keep these memories together, too.
2. Wordless Wednesday- I need more pictures of my kiddos. I just don’t take them often enough. So now, I will have a reason to get creative and build repetition.
3. Think Back Thursday- They’re 8 and 12 now. The stories of yesterday are many. It’s important to capture those, as well.
I love these kids and I love this space. I hope they’ll love having it back.
Boys are different than girls, as a blanket statement, it’s just true. Bear is an adventurer. He will invariably find the only puddle left in the street after a rainstorm, the lone glob of mud beconing to be squished beneath his immaculate church shoes and of course the rock, pebble or dirt clod begging to be thrown into whatever nearby target he can find, sometimes his sister. And while both Bug and Bear were gifted with BB guns a short while back, only Bear is out there setting up plastic army men, forgotten happy meal toys or other misfit toys as targets day after day. It never gets old. Being as it’s so soon after Christmas, the echoes of a Christmas Story are still bouncing around in my head. And Bear, like Ralphie, loves his carbine-action, 200-shot, range model air rifle.
So was I surprised to get a call last night that started began with “My friend and I were outside shooting our bb gun and even though I had been told not to go exploring, we did.”? Not really. From here, the story took a long and winding, detailed path to the eventual “and he was shooting a target down by the creek, when he shot clear through the target and we heard a PING sound. Since we didn’t know what happened but we knew it wasn’t good we ran and hid.” Again, the story meandered about until…”She found us, and she was a teacher at my elementary school.” Followed shortly by, “he’d hit her car, Mom, but only the bumper”.
All the while, I’m listening, jaw hanging open at the audacity of my child to do this and also amused at the way that only he can take a story and make it longer than the actual incident. I’m conflicted by the emotion of downright ANGER than my son could be so thoughtless and beguiled by his consistency of just being so PREDICTABLY a boy.
When finally, he gets to the very point in which he called. “Dad says we are no where near finished being punished, but he thinks that when I am at your house, I should be responsible for emptying the dishwasher and picking up dog poop for awhile.
Ah, yes. THE COLD HARD REALITY. While boys will always be boys…there will always be consequences. And the consequences are, quite often, a real bitch.
Dear Bug,
Every year on your birthday, I remember the day you were born. This year is no exception. I was so excited for my little girl. I think about how you were such a good, quiet baby. How you would just cuddle yourself into me to snuggle forever. I think about how much you loved to have me read books to you. Your favorite, for a long time, was Brown Bear, Brown Bear. I bet we read that story a thousand times. You had the most amazing wardrobe (thanks to Diana and her consignment shop) As a toddler, your love for shoes began. We could not walk through Target without you finding some you just HAD to have. (I have no idea where you got that from.)
Today, on your 8th birthday, I’m surprised by how grown up you are. You want CDs, clothes and a mini fridge for your room. (to keep your water cold at night…or so you say.) You tell me you have enough Barbie stuff. But just when I think the little girl is disappearing too quickly, you remind me that you want an American Girl doll. And I think of all the times you’ve spent putting various babies and dolls to bed over the years. You have a very nurturing soul.
So this year, as we ROCK OUT to Selena Gomez (the only remaining Disney starlet to not let me down so far), I want to remind you of a few things.
You are beautiful, inside and out.
You are strong. There is nothing you can’t do…if only you’ll believe in yourself.
You are smart, WICKED smart.
You are hilarious.
You have a smile that can light up a room.
Your heart is SO big and so fragile. I love how you still come up to me looking for a hug, after finding yourself in BIG trouble.
You are so much a part of me. You put the song in my heart and the spring in my step. Being your Mom is one of the biggest gifts God has given me.
I love you, Bug. I hope you have a festive and happy birthday.
Love,
Mom




