Summer Baseball Blues

Summer is having me feel a little bit grumpy these days.  You see, when I think of summer, I think of sleeveless dresses, sangria, and lazy nights listening to the sounds of the neighborhood kids playing the games I grew up with, freeze tag, capture the flag and kick the can.... I think of chatting with my neighbors, who finally appear out of nowhere, once the weather warms and we all quit hibernating. 

Except. That isn't what my summer looks like. The air conditioning system in my office building is cranked up to "refrigerator" temperatures, rendering my summer dresses obsolete, and instead I find myself layering  sweater dresses with jean jackets.  And rather than those lazy nights where my children entertain themselves as I look on sipping sangria, we are so over scheduled with baseball practices and games one may think I am raising a brood of elite athletes, bound for the Olympics.  

Someone should have warned me that having three boys would result in a complete and total loss of summer nights. And man, do I like summer nights.  Now it's a frenzy every evening, rushing around: Where are your cleats? Do we have all 37 of our water bottles filled? Have you eaten this hastily prepared crock pot dinner? Do you even want to? Who's picking up kid A from practice before kid B's game clear on the other side of the city? Where is your uniform? Not that uniform, the other uniform.  

And baseball games aren't quick.  Oh hell no.  They go on, and on, and on.  And over half the time your own child isn't doing a damn thing.  He is sitting on the bench, or waiting hopelessly in the outfield for a ball that will never come. And when he finally does get up to bat, it's 1,2,3 strikes and he's out... and back on the bench.  Yet you must look engaged! Enthusiastic! Proud of your kid's teammates, even if you don't know their names, or particularly like them. You must make small talk in the bleachers and pretend your butt doesn't hurt from sitting on those metal seats of torture. You must be prepared with snacks for the offspring not playing, and forgo your much deserved glass of wine after your long day of work.  

And when the game FINALLY does end.... you rush home and try to convince your rug rats, overtired, and wound up from a day of non-stop summer action to go to sleep at 9:45 pm.  And then, well then you get your well earned 4 minutes of "me" time before you collapse into bed, so you can get up and do it all over again tomorrow.  

Seriously. I can't wait for the fall. 

Guess what's in the coffee mug? Mom deserves wine! 

The Good Stuff

My intention with this blog was to focus on the positives.  Some weeks are harder than others.  Like this past week.  It started out with a Mother's Day...... baseball tournament.  Like WTAF, am I right?  I'm guessing a dad planned that one, because even if mom doesn't want a fancy brunch for Mother's Day, I can't tell you what she doesn't want... another effing baseball tournament.  

Let's move on to middle of the night Monday.  The oldest child is sick.  Like throw up red vomit all over his bedding and carpet.  Twice.  For the love of God child, your six year old brother can get to the bathroom to puke, it's time for you to get it together.  Tuesday morning greeted us with middle child throwing up, and me feeling like DEATH.  So, yeah, Tuesday was fun.

Thursday (in mid May mind you) mother nature decided to give us winter temperatures and snow, and our nanny was now sick, leaving me to  juggle work with three stir crazy kids after school. FUN TIMES.

BUT my friends.... I promised a blog about the good stuff, and yes, even amid the vomit and snow of this past week there was in fact some good stuff, and for the most part, if you look hard enough there usually is.

The Good Stuff:

My youngest son is moving from five to six in a matter of weeks and we threw him a GIGANTIC space-themed birthday bash.  Now for some of you the thought of hosting 20 plus kids and their parents at your home might cause you to hyper-ventilate, but not me, I am in my element.  I have always loved planning my kid's parties, and I know my time is running short. My older kids don't want a theme party with goodie bags of plastic crap, but my little Julian still lets mommy go to town making the arrangements.  Now don't get me wrong, I am NOT at Pinterest mom.  My ideas are less crafty and more extravagant, irresponsible spending.  We had a spaceship pinata, a rocket photo booth a bunch of black t-shirts, glow in the dark fabric paint and planet stencils.  We had astronaut ice cream and glow sticks galore.  The party was EPIC, well at least by six year old standards.  My older boys helped out by hiding treats for the treasure hunt and even stood back for the little kids when the pinata was smacked open.  Julian got boat loads of toys he doesn't need, the kids got high on way to much sugar, and it was by far the happiest moment of the week.  Not everyone loves birthdays the way that I do, I get that.  But for me,  I feel there is a lot of not-so-good-stuff in day to day life, and thus, it is critical to celebrate happy occasions at every opportunity.

So there you have it, a hard week ending on a high note, and here's to hoping for a vomit-snow-free week ahead!

Bittersweet

Well it's a Thursday night but there's a high school game

Sneak a bottle up the bleachers and forget my name

These 5A bastards run a shallow cross

It's a boy's last dream and a man's first loss

                                            -Jason Isbell, Speed Trap Town 

I am a huge fan of Jason Isbell.  He paints such a vivid image of small town life in Alabama, and with that one line "It's a boy's last dream and a man's first loss" he beautifully captures the melancholy loss of youthful innocence.  I have thought about that line often, and it has brought me to tears on more than one occasion.   

Watching my sons grow up is so bittersweet.  Often times I am caught up in the grief of my own loss as my cuddly babies grow up and away from me, but those lyrics take my breath away, and I realize how each passing year steals away some of the carefree innocence of childhood. 

A few weeks back we attended a school sponsored Rockies game on a chilly April evening.  We sat in a section with the other fifth grade families, my eldest huddled with a bunch of rowdy classmates, chanting song lyrics and doing just about everything but watching the game.  Eventually the boys, with a few bucks in their pockets ventured off to concessions running around, a pack of pre-teens clearly buzzing with with the thrill of new found independence.  I saw a smile on my son's face I had never seen before, and I felt.... damn happy for him.  I wasn't consumed with my own feelings of loss or fear, I was just excited for my boy, and all that his future holds.

I remember my early moments of freedom,  first, at eleven, walking a half mile to the nearby convenience store with my sister to load up on candy, feeling so grown and independent. And later, an 18 year old in the passenger seat of a convertible, a cute older boy with shoulder-length blonde hair at the wheel, driving way too fast, summer air, stars, I felt like the whole world was ahead of me, and it was. 

My son is growing up, and it is exciting as I see him become who he will be.  I think of all the years to come, his first crush, his first dance, his first job, his graduation, and I know that his future is full of endless possibility.  But there will be loss.  There will be heartbreak, disappointment and broken dreams, but I hope that his life will be different, than the one Jason Isbell sings of.  I hope that no matter what set backs and pain he endures he will never, ever stop dreaming.  

You are never too old to dream.  

I still do.

The Truth About Boys

I have three boys. 1-2-3. Three.  I will frequently share my sheer disbelief that this in fact is my life, because according to my playbook, I was supposed to have two little girls.  Alas, I ended up with Zachary, Evan AND Julian!

I grew up in a family with fairly low testosterone levels.  My father preferred poetry to football, and later my stepfather, while he enjoyed his Mets, was more inclined to take us ladies to the ballet than spend the day doing "man stuff" like fixing cars.    I had one sister and neither of us were particularly athletic or tom-boyish.   I grew up as girly as could be. I had a brief and ill-conceived stint with modern dance, I was involved in theater and show-choir, and I was loath to participate in gym class.  I am an unapologetic stereotypical chick living in a house with all boys.  So I know a thing or two about cohabiting with them, and I'm going to share these life lessons with you.

1) Boys make your house smell like piss.  What would seem like it should be some sort of a genetic  advantage, (the ability to aim) instead  has lead to the decline in sanitary homes across the world, and  increased the stock value of disinfectant wipe manufacturers.

2) There is never a quiet moment.....EVER.  I remember my own mother's reaction to an early visit with her grandsons.  "There is so much NOISE" she commented, and reminisced about the days my sister and I quietly hid in our bedrooms reenacting soap opera scenes with our Barbie dolls.  No my boys believe that in order to be heard they must be screeching at full capacity.  Dinner conversation at our family table usually consists of  "you want what?! I can't hear you! Zachary stop shrieking  the lyrics to Hamilton, for the love of God!"

3) They bounce of the walls. No. Literally.  Case in point, today I accompanied my youngest on a class field trip and several of the boys were seriously throwing themselves at the wall in the elevator, laughing hysterically.  No, the girls were not participating.

4) They don't want to get a pedicure with their mom.  I suppose that is obvious, but I am just throwing it in there. Because, I always wanted to get a pedicure with my offspring.  *Sigh*

5) Every hour of our free time seems to be consumed with some sports related activity.  Whether it is soccer, baseball or basketball practice, a kid's game, a team "photo-shoot", a post season pizza party, a live Rockies game, a Rockies game on TV, a Rockies game on the Radio, reminiscing about a past Rockies game, or reading the Rockies stats in the local paper...... you get the idea.  

6) Someone is going to get hurt.  Boys play hard. Often times, hard play turns to play fighting, which turns to real fighting which turns to bruises, bites, tears and maybe someday broken bones.  Some boys in their frenzy of hyper-activity fall and hurt themselves. Sometimes badly.  (Now don't get me wrong, I assume that this may also be the case for girls, but I don't have girls so I don't know.)  We have been lucky thus far., and have only endured one concussion, and two trips to the ER for head stitches.

I could go on with my list, however I am at the end of my day as a boy-mom and I am totally worn out.  I have dealt with boys throwing themselves at elevator walls, endured a meal with my family which for safety reasons should have been accompanied by ear plugs,  washed and folded what seemed like 3000 baseball and soccer uniforms, and cleaned piss off the bathroom floor for the 110th time this week (it's Monday.)

So goodnight fellow boy moms. Sleep well. It starts again tomorrow!

I Just Want A Bagel

I have two, lovely friends, a couple, who are, how do I put this politely?  Cross-Fit freaks.  Now don't get me wrong, I love them dearly, and I am incredibly impressed with their level of commitment and their ability to essentially dead lift twice my body weight (you think I am exaggerating... I am not.)  However, I'm no cross-fitter.  I go to the gym regularly, it's just that my workouts involve much, much smaller weights, fewer repetitions, and quite frankly less challenge.  One time in a misguided attempt  to keep up with my super-fit friends, I tried a portion of one of their weekend challenges.  I did 300 "air-squats" and felt quite proud of myself. Then I was almost unable to walk for the next four days.  I learned my lesson.

Thus, when our friends suggested that we try a diet they had just completed with their cross-fit brethren, I immediately said "HELL NO."  But the husband for some unknown reason, was insistent that this was something we had to give a chance.  So rather than completing an 8 week challenge, I agreed to four weeks of no bread, cheese, sugar or beer.  Luckily for me the diet does not prohibit wine, although it does caution only one glass per day is permitted. (This rule is one that I openly admitted I would be ignoring, for Christ's sake, I have three kids, you cannot take my wine from me. Ever.)

The diet started two weeks ago, when I loaded up the grocery cart with fresh vegetables, chicken, salmon, low fat yogurt and a variety of other no carb-no-fun foods.  I actually felt a little excited by this challenge and curious about how eating differently would make me feel.

With the exception of wine and a few sour patch kids,  I have done a pretty damn good job of following the diet. Part of the challenge includes "reflection," so I thought I would reflect right here for you, my lucky *three* readers.....



1) IT SUCKS

2) IT SUCKS

3) I miss carbs mostly in the morning, and I struggle to find something that I enjoy for breakfast.  My go-to has always been half a bagel (or a whole if it was a particularly good bagel)  with cream cheese.  Now I am trying to scramble eggs while doing my hair and and screaming at my kids to get ready already,  or else I'm left with a sad bowl of cottage cheese.   One day at the recommendation of my husband, I tried oatmeal ( an option noted as "acceptable" on the holy grail/ cross-fit list of appropriate diet foods.)  I was hopeful that the boost of carbs would give me the energy I needed for a morning run, however one bite of the gelatinous slop and I was back to cottage cheese. God damn, do I miss bagels.

4) IT SUCKS

5) Snacking is really hard, you have to plan, and I am not good at planning.  On a recent afternoon at the office I was starving and scrounging the kitchen for snacks.  Turns out the company's idea of healthy snacks include, pretzels, granola bars, "fun-sized" bags of mini oreos and cheese sticks. All of which are listed as no-no's.  So instead of a snack I sat at my desk and cried into my diet coke. (YES, I know it should have been water.)

6) Holidays are hard.  We had Easter last weekend, and while I am not particularly tempted by jelly beans or Peeps, it was hard creating a dinner that felt special without... carbs and cheese.  We ended up with a ham, some green beans, and some sweet potatoes. MEH.  It didn't feel special. It felt sad.

7) IT SUCKS

8) Most of the best foods have cheese. And I can't eat them, thus, this diet SUCKS.

9) I no longer look forward to meal time, because it's either cottage cheese, or a hunk of meat and some vegetables.  BORING. (Spare me Gwyenth Paltrow and your super healthy recipes, I have no personal chef and I do NOT have the time  to make your marinated-yellowtail-with-plums-fennel-and-pistachio dinner. )


So there you have it folks. Our friends who suggested the diet had tremendous success with it and lost a significant amount of weight. I have a no-weighing-myself rule, so I don't know if eliminating all good foods has made any impact on my body, but so far, my guess is, not really.  But lets be honest, in the end  I am just doubling up on ham and haven't given up my wine.

So friends, two weeks of the sucking diet to go.... and tonight it's veggie chili, which I usually like,(ton top of a glorious pile of noodles, or in a heavenly bread bowl.) But I will persevere. I will not give in to my intense cravings for an everything bagel smothered in cream cheese, I will finish the task, complaining all the way.

Special thanks to my unnamed Cross-Fit-Freak friends (you know who you are.) All I can say is I must really respect you to try this shit.  xoxox

Not giving up my wine, thank you very much.

Growing Up

Last night, due to a faulty smoke alarm, the family was rudely awoken by a shrill beeping noise.  It took approximately .2 seconds for my youngest child, Julian, to sprint into our bedroom and into my arms with tears running down his face.  It took me a bit to calm him, and he decided he wanted to spend the night cuddled up next to me.  It's been a few months since Julian has slept in our bed, he has given it up and now prefers to sleep on the floor of his older brother's room. Julian does have his own bed mind you, but for nearly a year he would wander into our bedroom  in the middle of the night, sleepy-eyed and crawl into my side of the bed. I admit, not only did I not mind it, I liked it.

I remember writing a post about my eldest child, Zack, years ago, when he was small.  I took him to a water park for little kids, and got briefly separated from him.  I saw Zack looking for me, but I could not grab his attention.  He had a look of sheer panic on his little face as I tried to make my way over to him, through a sea of small, splashing children. When I finally got to him he fell into my arms, sobbing with relief, and I thought to myself "I mean everything to this child."

As babies and toddlers, I was everything my children needed.  I still recall picking Zack up from daycare, and seeing his face light up as soon as he spotted me, or the way Evan's arms would reach for me when I came to fetch him from his crib in the morning.   It was an amazing feeling to know that, barring any medical crisis, I could provide for every one of my children's needs. I gave them the attention, the love, the food, the learning and the entertainment they required, their entire lives revolved around me. 

Of course they grow bigger don't they?  Zack is now only one foot shy of matching me in height, and I can wear his shoes. His shoulders are getting broader, and I can see the outlines of his teenage self starting to develop, with only occasional shadows of the little boy he was. Evan, almost 9, was once a little chunk, with a head of floppy blond curls, which would have me stopping to gratefully accept compliments with some frequency.  Today he is skinny and goofy and rather then the angelic look he took on as a baby, he now seems to always have a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes.   Julian, of course is my "baby" though he will be turning six not too long from now. He is shedding his baby fat, but still has the voice of a very small child, though I know that too will fade away soon.

The boys now have entire lives that exists outside of me. They have teachers, friends and coaches who play a big part in their growing up.  I no longer know exactly what they ate each day, or have a daily report card informing me how many times they used the bathroom and how long they napped. (Okay, so even then I that was a little TMI.)  But now, I can no longer meet all of their needs.  I can't teach Zack how to pitch, and don't get me started on algebra.  I can't fix the hurt if they do poorly on a test, or lose a friend who moves away.  I can't be their whole lives anymore, they are becoming their own people.

Helping our children grow up and eventually "leave the nest" is part of our job as parents.  We are successful when our kids can think for themselves, form positive, loving relationships, and frankly, allow themselves to "need" others.   I can't be my child's everything anymore, and though at times I miss that, I know that one the greatest gifts I can give my boys is love and support so that they may have the confidence to "grow-up" and away from me.

And so last night when my littlest came to me knowing I could fix everything for him in an instant, I took that moment and held it in my heart, knowing that soon, a time would come when I couldn't. And I hope (God do I hope) that even though it won't be the way it once was, that part of them will still "need" their mom, as I know I will always need them.

Make Someone's Day

I'll never forget a day about 5 years ago when I was living in Oakland.  I was walking down MacArthur Blvd to the playground so my five year old could meet up with his soccer team.  I had my littlest child, only months old in the front carrier strapped to my chest,  I was pushing my toddler, Evan, in the stroller and calling out after my kindergartner, Zack, to slow down.  I was wearing my usual mama uniform: yoga pants, a hoodie, and baseball cap as I was trying to grow out a pixie cut.  I was exhausted and quite honestly didn't feel like going to the playground for the 353rd time that week.  But as I approached the crosswalk a car slowed to nearly a stop and the driver yelled over at me through her open window "You are the cutest mom I ever saw!"   You should have seen the smile spread across my face as I waved a sincere "thank you!"  My mood was instantly lifted. And I thought about that compliment a lot, feeling good that someone in the world had perceived me as a "cute mom."  For those of you with little ones at home, you know how hard it can be to imagine you have achieved anything resembling "cute" when you are covered in spit up and going on 2 days without washing your hair.


A compliment, from a stranger is sometimes just what is needed.  I don't know why, but sometimes praise seems more valid coming from someone you don't know, someone with no skin in the game.  That isn't to say that kind words coming from a friend, coworker or family member have no value, but I feel that the unexpected no-strings-attached compliment from someone you don't know has a different, special meaning.  Maybe it's because so often in this world when you hear from a stranger, it's a negative experience.  Your kids are too loud, you accidentally parked someone in, you're taking too long with your order, the service was bad, you get the idea.  So when the person standing in line with you at the grocery store turns to you and compliments you on what a good job you are doing with your fussy kids, it's a really welcomed surprise.  It makes you feel good not only about yourself, but about the kind person you are interacting with.

So I'm making a point of giving sincere compliments to strangers in the hopes of brightening someone's day, if only for a moment.  Want to try it too??