Christmas Memories

Two of the memories I will hold of today have nothing to do with gifts or traditions, but are just silly moments having fun with family.  So often it really is the little things that bring us moments of joy.

On the way to my brother’s house today, my son was looking around at empty parking lots and asked what is open on Christmas.  I told him there were a few fast food places and restaurants, and bored him with my story of working one Christmas day at Taco Bell as a teen.  I told him Walgreens would be because it has a 24 hour pharmacy.   He pondered over this information.  Later, when my brother jokingly offered my son a root beer float due to his penchant for the bottomless ones at Red Robin, then told him he had neither root beer or ice cream, Aiden let him know Walgreens was open and would have both! 

On the way home, someone noted that Burger King was open.  This led to my son, my husband, and I pointing out each and everything that was open on our drive home, trying to beat each other to say it.  “We can make a game of anything,” Aiden laughed.  Yes, we can.  And in case you are curious, Burger King, McDonalds, Walgreens and CVS, and liquor stores are the hands down winners.

Next year, I may have forgotten what we gave each other for gifts, but I will certainly remember I can get the ingredients for rootbeer floats, a cheap burger, and a bottle of whiskey any day of the year!

That’s why they have wine.  Liquor stores even stay open so you can get it!

Why I am a Parent, Not a Friend

I was in a discussion recently where someone took offense to the phrase “Be a parent, not a friend.”  A discussion that led to someone saying that “aggressive parenting” seems like parenting where you are afraid to let your children be themselves and was just a power trip.

First, I’m not sure what aggressive parenting is.  I thought maybe it was what someone coined as a parenting style, but Google does not give me that impression.  I do see references to “hostile-aggressive parents” referring to parents that are emotionally or physically abusive.....Wow.  Since most of the people I know share the same “I’m a parent....” attitude, and none of them are child abusers, I have to admit I was a bit shocked.

So, I would just like to clarify what I mean by being a parent and not a friend to clear up the misunderstanding that I must beat my child into submission and don’t want him to be the individual he is. 

We do not have a long list of rules posted anywhere.  My child is not afraid of me.  We have a lot of fun and joke around together all the time. I am not his enemy, and we are in fact very close.

We have two basic rules:  You need to be honest, and you need to be respectful both of yourself and others.  That pretty much covers it.  Following those rules means you don’t lie, you don’t cheat, you don’t talk out of turn, you sit in your seat at a restaurant and keep your voice down, you listen to authority figures, you do not say mean things about others.  Some of those things my child may need to be reminded of now and then, which he is with a hand gesture (keep it down) or a whisper (“That is going to annoy the people in line behind us”), not with a yank of the arm or a yell or a spanking.  When something happens because he did not follow those rules, we discuss it together and come up with a solution to prevent it from occurring again in the future.

But those rules he WILL follow.  Why?  Not because it is easier for me – trust me, especially if you are with another parent and child that is afraid to tell their child “No.”  Not because it somehow makes me feel good when he stomps off and slams the door.  Rather, it is because being a person who has those qualities is what is going to make him most happy and successful in life.  I don’t care if every other child at the party is allowed to be rude to another child, or if the kid down the street can call his mother a name, or if my child is going to tell me “I hate you!” because he can’t skip his homework like his friend can.

Believe it or not, children crave that structure and have a real need to know that there is someone in their life that is an authority figure who can rein them in.  Without those things, a helpless child just feels more helpless.  My son has friends at school, at baseball, in the neighborhood.  At home he needs a Mom and Dad.

A parent can be a friend, but a friend cannot be a parent.

And that’s why they have wine.

And That's Why They Have Bikes

My Christmas present.  I not only dragged the very heavy package into the house when it was delivered and left on my front porch, I helped put it together.  Thus the reason there was no need to hide it...

My husband apparantly knows me well, he bought me a bike with a place for my bottle and glass. ;)

When the going gets tough, that's why they have wine.  When the going gets so tough, you have to leave the house, that's why they have bikes.

Free To Be You And Me

I don’t watch Duck Dynasty, though I have heard other’s talk about it.  Just not something I ever ran across and got addicted to between all my Lifetime shows and movies that take up my free time.

The controversy surrounding it now surprises me.  And kind of scares me.  Does one man on a reality show hold that much power over any of our lives, whether you disagree with him or don’t?  Apparantly he does, and that makes me worry about the future of our nation, a nation I’m beginning (well, maybe I’ve thought this before) to suspect is made up of a bunch of weak-minded ninnies.

Does everyone have to agree with you?  Yes, you.  And you.  And you and you and you.  Do they?  What happens to you if they don’t?  Is your life any different today because of a GQ article? 

If this man who makes duck calls is what is encompassing your life right now because you are focused on defending and supporting him, perhaps you might want to look at that Bible passage he quoted.  Don’t make him your idol.

If you are offended because he thinks you are a sinner, why the h-e-double hockey sticks do you care what he thinks? Not to mention that I’m sure he’d tell you himself HE is a sinner, as a core belief of Christianity is that EVERYONE is.

The man is a citizen of the United States, and as such is free to speak his opinions and hold his beliefs.  A&E is free, as a private employer, to “put him on hiatus” if they feel he is not representing their company.

Case closed.  There are more important things in life to worry about.  Like the huge number of people in this country that have no clue how great it is to have the freedoms we have to be exactly who we are, despite what anyone else thinks about it.  If you like yourself and are proud of your life, that is all that matters.

Now on to some more important issues, like finding that Christmas gift my son at the last minute said he hopes Santa is bringing, and I can’t find anyplace that has it in stock. 

That’s why they have wine.

Hook, Line, and Push Up Bra

Tonight, the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was on TV.  It’s so amazing that we’ve been able to come this far as women in this country and that being able to model underwear in a seductive fashion has become not only acceptable, but respected.  We’ve broken through the barrier of being trivialized, no longer being thought of as only something to look pretty, but rather as intelligent and enterprising and valued for our important contributions to society.

In case you are wondering, that annoying sound you hear, it is the sarcasm dripping from the above paragraph.  The sad thing is, Victoria’s Secret is just the tip of the iceberg, a tip that is pretty tame compared to what is at the base.

What happened?  I thought women in this country were fighting for equality and respect.  What we got was objectification and the warped concept that our sexuality is where our largest value lies.  And we’ve fallen for it hook, line, and push up bra.

I am an intelligent, resourceful, conscientious, supportive, independent, successful woman.   I don’t need cleavage, skimpy outfits, or plastic surgery.  I reject the notion that I’m supposed to be OK with pornography and strip clubs.  I refuse to be sexually suggestive as a way to get something, and don’t support those companies who use that as their ploy.

I am the same person sitting here, 10 or so pounds over my “maximum healthy” weight, in my frumpy pajamas, with my A cup breasts, glasses on and wearing no makeup as I would be if I were 25 pounds thinner, in a string bikini, with D cups and long eyelashes.  If someone only sees the outside me and does not value what is inside, they are not worth my time.  And they are not worth yours either.

And that’s why they have wine.

 

Things I Have Learned in My Life

Was reading a list today of things someone wished they knew when they were 18, and it made me think….what exactly have I learned in my 46-in-two-weeks years of life.  So here is my list.

1.       Your feelings matter.  Always.  If someone tells you they don’t, you do not need that person.

2.       There are a lot of things in life we have no control over.  Stressing about them won’t help.

3.       Wine can’t solve everything, but it sure helps sometimes.

4.       There is no such thing as too much sleep.

5.       Having a child can change your feelings on almost everything.

6.       Learning should never stop.

7.      No matter how much you think you’ll never be able to make it through a problem, you are still here.

8.      You are so much more than your bra size.  And again, if someone thinks you’re not, you do not need that person.

9.       Disney World is truly a magical place.  Especially Epcot, where there is wine (see #3).

10.  You have to let everyone else be who they are.  You can choose whether or not to have them in your life, but you can’t choose to make them fit your life, they do or they don’t .

11.   You never know how something will turn out until you try it.

12.   Driving 5 miles to get gasoline for 2 cents less a gallon really isn’t worth it.

13.   You are never too old to be confused by 5^th grade math homework.

14.   No one can truly know you if you don’t let them in.

15.   Sometimes you have to ask for help.

16.   There will always be someone that tries to make your life more difficult.

17.  Always check your child’s pockets before doing the laundry.  And your husband’s.  They both carry around strange things that can give your clothing a whole new look.

18.  When you check pockets before doing laundry, you are bound to find some money, even if it’s a few spare pennies.

19.   We are not all the same, that is the reason for the word “compromise.”

20.   Chicken and Waffle potato chips are nasty.  They just are.

21.   Everyone has at least one good quality.

22.   You would be surprised at what some people really think of you.  And most often, it’s a pleasant surprise.

23.   Yoga pants are a gift from God.

24.   You WILL do something you swore you never would.

25.   Love isn’t really about you.  True love is an unselfish emotion.

26.   You CAN do it.  Thinking you can’t is your biggest obstacle.

27.   The Serenity Prayer is one of the wisest things ever written.

28.   There is nothing more freeing than forgiveness.

29.   You can meet some of your greatest friends on the internet.

30.   There is just something special about being at the beach.

31.  While it can sometimes drive you crazy, a pet that never wants to leave your side is a blessing.

32.   We can’t really appreciate the good without knowing the bad.

33.   Money really can’t buy happiness, but the pursuit of money can cause misery.

34.   The small things in life are what you will remember the most fondly.

35.   Sometimes the things we fight against the most are exactly what we need.

36.   Soaking in the bath reading a gossip magazine and drinking a glass of wine can be a truly awesome night.

37.   God will send you messages in some of the strangest, unexpected ways.

38.   Everyone is afraid of change, but the world would not have come this far without it.

39.   It’s OK to watch children’s shows without any children present.

40.  When you reach menopause, you no longer have control of anything about your body.  You will get pimples in your wrinkles and the weight in your rear will mysteriously move to your belly in your sleep.

41.   You ARE the only person who knows how to put the toilet paper on the spindle.

42.   Time goes by so much faster the older you get, so enjoy every moment of it.

43.  If your life is focused on what you can do for others rather on what they can do for you, you will be so much happier.

44.  No one, absolutely no one, is more important than someone else.  That also means no one is less important, something that is often forgot.

45.   Jealousy is an extremely destructive emotion.

46.  Most people are too busy with their own problems to be out to get you.  You have to stop blaming them for your own problems.

47.   Our biggest joys in life are often unexpected.

48.   Our biggest problems in life are often self-made.

49.   Fuzzy character slippers are something everyone should have.

50.   Things I’ve learned in life don’t mean anything unless I implement the lessons.

But You Told Me Not To Do That

My 12 year old is currently playing on two baseball teams, for the Hurricanes he pitches and plays first base, and for the Tide he plays outfield.  All very different types of throwing.

After Thursday’s Tide practice, he asked if he could use the heating pad because his arm really hurt.  Asked him where…mainly the shoulder and somewhat at the elbow.  Asked him when…started during warm ups. (He should have told a coach at that point, but that’s a whole other story!)  Took him home, gave him ibuprofen and the heating pad.

Friday morning, asked him how he felt, he made a throwing motion, and said it still hurt.  Gave him ibuprofen and talked to his Hurricanes coach and let him know Aiden would be unable to pitch at that night’s game due to his arm hurting.  His coach chose to completely sit him out to rest his arm, and I told Aiden that at his dad’s this weekend he was not to play baseball, football, or golf, or anything else where he was using his arm, he needed to rest it.  Apparently he took that quite literally.

I called him Saturday morning and asked how his arm felt.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m being good and listening, I haven’t used it.”

“Ok, well can you make one throwing motion and tell me how it feels?”

“But you told me not to do that.”  Well, at least he listens.

I did finally convince him to make the motion, still hurt, but not nearly as much, told him to take an ibuprofen at that time and again at dinner. 

Today, I just avoided the conversation and texted him to take an ibuprofen.

And that’s why they have wine.

Of Baby Dolls and Victoria's Secret Models

A couple of days ago, on a Facebook page, there was a picture of an anatomically correct male baby doll, and, as Facebook is for, a discussion on it.

I happened to be sitting in a hotel room with my son on a little weekend getaway to Sea World, and he was sitting next to me as I was browsing on my tablet.  I was kind of fascinated with this discussion, as I was surprised how many people thought an anatomically correct baby doll was not only bad, not only something they didn’t want their children to have, but something that was one of the reasons for bad things in our society and ultimately something that a reader requested be removed from the Facebook page as they were offended.  My son, 12 years old, saw the picture and did a double take.  I told him it was a baby doll.  “Oh, cool, why are you talking about a baby doll?”

I am not a parent that just answers “Don’t worry about it.”  I keep things age appropriate, but I believe being open about and honest about the world and things in it, and why I am talking about a baby doll is something I will give a real answer to.  “We’re talking about the baby doll looking real.  A lot of people think that is a bad thing.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, that is hard for me to answer, I don’t understand it.  Body parts are body parts. Having a penis is no different than having an arm.”

“You can’t pee from your arm.”  Of course it took me a minute to figure out what he said, as he was laughing outrageously at his own potty humor.

We had a pretty interesting discussion about body parts, and how we don’t let anyone but family and our doctor see them, and, well, good thing I had a glass of wine before this came up!

I’ve never made nakedness or body parts a shameful thing in our house.  When he was a toddler, he was allowed to take a shower with me or his dad.  He knows what bodies look like, and as a result he’s never had a fascination with them, they are what they are.  Men and women look different under their underwear, women wear a bra to hold the breasts that babies are fed from, and men can pee standing behind a tree.  As he’s gotten older, I’ve taught that we need to respect people’s privacy when changing clothes or taking a shower, but yet he still has urgent questions that must be answered while he’s wearing only socks and a baseball heart guard and I have to tell him to go put pants on before talking to me.  If he accidentally walks in on me changing, I’ve never even gasped much less made a big deal of it because, well, then that makes it a big deal.

These things have not made him fascinated with sex, much less turned him into some kind of deviant.  An anatomically correct doll is just that, an anatomically correct doll.  That is what babies look like, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with the fact that we have the body parts that we do.  For goodness sakes, if your 2 year old asks what a penis is, you say that is how a male pees, you don’t have to go into sexual detail!

Ironically, while my son and I were having this conversation, a Victoria’s Secret commercial came on TV, women in skimpy underwear acting as nothing but sex objects.  THAT won’t give our children inappropriate and inaccurate messages, but a male baby doll will.


That's why they have wine!

Baseball Moms

Baseball Moms.

We are perhaps a unique breed.  You name a number, we can give you a name.  Need to get a stain out of white pants, we are your savior.  Want to know how to feed your child lunch in 2-1/2 minutes between games while they are transporting their equipment, we are there.  Not  to mention we have an extra sandwich for the child brought by only their dad,   A backseat in our car full of blankets and sweatshirts.  Extra chairs in our trunk.  And extra love and support for all of them, along with sunscreen and bug spray.

We are a family.  Sometimes dysfunctional, but who isn’t?  We share our joys, our concerns, our pain.  And the occasional glass of wine.  Or beer.  Or Gatorade if that is all that is available.

We cheer for each other’s children, run for ice packs if they are hit by a ball, console them if they had a bad day.  Buy plastic zebras to motivate them, promise them milkshakes, read them toilet trivia…please do not make me go on!

I love my fellow baseball moms, no community I would be prouder of belonging to!

A toast to my baseball family!  THAT’S why they have wine!

 

The Attack of The Tiny Rubber Bands

When you have a child with severe fine motor delays and ADHD (meaning LOW frustration levels), the request to go to the craft store to buy a kit to make bracelets out of tiny little rubber bands does not exactly elicit a response of excitement.   When that request was made this evening, my brain immediately jumped to trying to distract him.

He was relentless.  He really wanted to try this and he was willing to spend his own money.  So I thought more.  He has been on a waiting list for Occupational Therapy for a year and a half, and in another couple of months insurance will no longer cover it (conveniently, there are no in-network providers in our major metropolitan area), and his neurologist did tell me to encourage any activities that would work on those skills…and so off to Michael’s we went.

We got home, and he set the bag on the counter and announced he was going to see if the boys across the street could play outside.  Whew, coming down with a cold and not feeling so well, so happy to not have to deal with any whining and crying.  But the boys were not home.  Bag came out, rubber bands spread out all over the dining room table.  And Aiden quietly sat there for an hour, looking up instructions on You Tube, and attempting to follow them.  No bracelet at that time, not even a few loops, but no problems either.

I told him I was proud of his efforts, and asked if he wanted to go get a pizza for dinner.   Of course he did, so off we went, and upon return he immediately returned to the rubber bands.  After a few minutes, he asked if I could possibly help figure out the directions.  He had all the bands on the loom perfectly, but just couldn’t get them to loop together right.  No problem, this should be fairly easy, after all this is a kid’s craft item. It is now obvious that children are apparently smarter than me.

After about 20 minutes, I figured out what we were supposed to be doing with the design he was trying to do.  I showed him how, but the bands kept coming off the loom when he tried, and frustration kicked in.  He went off to his room teary-eyed, and when I went to check on him he said that he would never be able to do this.

“If that is your attitude, yep, you are right.  You will never be able to do what you don’t believe you can.”  And then I left to go clean the kitchen.

About 3 minutes later, I saw him quietly sneak back to the dining room.  He took the rubber bands he had on the loom off and started over.  He asked me to show him again.  I did, and getting the bands on the hook is difficult for him, thanks to those fine motor delays, but he managed to get a few of the loops done.  I saw the frustration coming back, asked him if he wanted to watch a movie and start over tomorrow.  I got a big nod in return.

No bracelet yet, but he has not given up and there were no meltdowns, and that is a huge accomplishment.  I let him know how proud I was of his determination, and of how much more mature he was in handling things.  And I really am.

Tomorrow there will be a bracelet.  I know there will.

Now if only I could figure out how to successfully make one….That’s why they have wine.

If Only It Was So Easy

Last week my son told me he thought he needed a med increase.  I asked him why, and he said it was due to the increase of a particular related problem that the medication unexpectedly helps.

He is on ADHD medication due to his difficulties he was having in school.  Yes, we have had difficulties at home, including extreme tantrums and outbursts, but we’d always handled those…and, well, you can guess where the name of my blog came from.  I admit, those symptoms are also helped with the medication and I’m not going to deny being happy about that.  Not only does it make his life happier and easier, it takes away a HUGE amount of my stress.

I told him I didn’t want to ask the doctor for a med increase just to help with an unintended effect, and that we would deal with it in other ways.  He understood, and agreed he did not need more medicine.  He is doing great in school, he just got all A’s for the first time EVER, and seems to be doing well socially also. 

Now that he mentioned increase, however, I’m starting to notice the rise in other symptoms outside of school.  He is 12, he is starting puberty, and his doctor warned me it could get bumpy and could require med adjustments.  I had to tell him at LEAST 10 times this evening to “settle down,” and I haven’t had to even tell him that once a day for quite a while.  This morning on the way to school, my usually half-asleep kid talked so much he actually asked me what was making him talk so much.  I don’t think he’s remembered a single thing I’ve told him this week, and he’s asked me the same questions so many times I can now predict them.  I’ve had to shake his arm several times to get him out of “zone-out” when talking to him.  No meltdowns so far, but we came close when I told him I was not taking him to spend the money he was saving for a game that comes out next week on a different one that came out today just because he was impatient.   I managed to distract him with something else, thank goodness.

He has an appointment with his neurologist in a couple of weeks.  Like I said, he was put on medication for his school performance, and he’s doing fine there.  But, yes, he is certainly is exhibiting a lot of other symptoms.  And I’m afraid it WILL start carrying over to school.  He is doing so well right now, I don’t want him to stumble.  But I don’t want to give him more medication than he needs.  I don’t know what to do.

People not in this situation think that it’s such an easy choice to choose to give medication to your child…you are a wonderful parent who is superhuman and can fix all the problems without it, or you are a failure who gives it to your child so you don’t have to do anything.  Simple, easy, black and white.  I only wish it was so easy, then I wouldn’t even be needing to write this to help myself sort through my thoughts.

That’s why they have wine.  Too bad I’m out.

It CAN Happen to Your Child

  

Locally, a 12-year old girl, Rebecca Sedwick, chose to take her life after enduring long-term bullying both online and off.  Unfortunately, she is not the first child to feel this was her only choice.  And she won’t be the last.  However, since two girls who were bullying her were arrested in association with this incident, this has become national news, and hopefully will open some parents’ eyes.

It can happen to your child.

Yes, YOURS.

Realizing that is the first step in preventing such a tragedy in your family.  There are no super parents who can ensure nothing bad ever happens to their child.  There is no person, much less child, who does not feel an effect from being taunted, teased, or harassed.  There is nothing that you can do to prevent other children from behaving in a particular manner.

“Kids just need to toughen up!  Back in my day, we just had a fight on the playground and got it over with.”

We’re not back in your day.  We’re not back in my day.  We’re not even back in last week.  We have a rapidly changing world with ever changing technology.  Technology that now allows kids to record that fight on the playground, post it on social media sites for thousands to see, and for even strangers to comment on.  The bullying doesn’t end at the end of the school day when you go home, and it doesn’t stop just because your child is not in the physical presence of the bully.  And back in your day, the playground fights didn’t involve guns.

“I would just take my child’s phone/tablet/computer away if someone was bothering them, problem solved.”

The tablet isn’t the one bullying your child.  This may not be what you say, but this is what your child hears: “Yes, honey, I know you did not do anything wrong and you’ve used your device responsibly, but I’m taking it away because other children can’t behave.  I am cutting you off from communication with those friends who do support you.  I don’t have time to deal with this anymore, and it’s easier for me this way.”  Well, and then you have to sit and help them do their homework when they need to research or type something so as to not leave them alone with an electronic device.

“Everyone loves my child, no one would ever pick on him.”

No matter how lovable your child is, not everyone else sees that.  Other kids can find anything to make fun of someone for.  All it takes is a pimple, a bad hair day, a dropped lunch, a misspoken word, an overbearing parent …..

So, what do you do?  Be prepared.  Talk to your kids about bullying before it happens, so that they feel comfortable talking to you when it does.  Have a plan, give them some defense strategies, make them feel like they are safe coming to you for anything.  Let them know you love them no matter what and you can help them get through anything.

Look at things from a whole new angle.  A Facebook account can be seen as something that might hurt a child, or, the contrary, it can be an amazing tool in finding out not only how your child’s friends act when they are not in front of you, but in finding out how their parents act too.  Then you know what you are up against.

Parenting can be really difficult and complex, it’s not an easy job.  That’s why they have wine!

 

 

Anxiety

Anxiety.  Why does it have to exist?

My son, he can pitch pretty darn good.  Two weeks ago, he was the starting pitcher in a game.  In 4 innings, he pitched 9 strikeouts, but all he remembers are the bad pitches.

I keep his pitch count at every game, and this is not your ordinary pitch count!  I track every statistic important to him…..how many pitches per batter per inning and how many of those were balls or strikes, how many pickoff attempts (and how many were successful), if the batter got a hit, if the batter was walked…  I hand him the paper after the game and he studies it for days.  Yet, he only seems to notice the “bad” stuff.

He recently was asked to join a travel team, something he takes great pride in, but tonight when the coach asked him if he was ready to go in and relief pitch, he had a much less than enthusiastic response.  Anxiety.  Extreme anxiety!  I had a discussion with him on the way home, and he said he thought he was a really good pitcher in regular league ball but not in travel ball.  I asked him, “Um, if you pitch a strike to a kid in league ball, or throw that same pitch to a kid in travel ball, what is it the difference?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“There isn’t one.  A good pitch is a good pitch.”

“But what if they hit it?”

“Then your teammates will field it, that is what they are there for.”

“But they hit it harder in travel ball.”

“But your fielders are better in travel ball.”

“But….”

And but, and but, and but.

Finally, I said, “Do you think I will be mad if you don’t pitch a good game?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have I EVER been upset over a game?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You know that coaches want you to pitch because you can, right?”

“I guess so.”

“And being part of a team is doing what you are good at to help?”

“Duh, Mom.”

“So?”

“Sorry, Mom.  I just get scared people will get mad.”

Anxiety.  An emotion I wish we didn’t have!  But, I understand, I get it too.  That’s why they have wine.  Unfortunately, not a good solution for helping your kid!

Stop and Smell The Cow Manure

This year, I put my son in a private school for kids with learning disabilities.  One of the greatest decisions I ever made.  Only problem…it is in the exact opposite direction from my house that my job is, so I easily spend 2 hours a day in the car, 3 if he has baseball practice (which is most days!).

Every problem, though, can just be a door to discovery.  In this case, we’ve learned to stop and smell, well, all kinds of things.

We live in the city.  Last year, my son went to school 2 miles from my home, and we passed 4 convenience stores, 4 fast food restaurants, at least 4 regular restaurants, a Coca-Cola call center, a chain drug store, a grocery store, a police station, and numerous other various businesses to get there. 

This year, we go the opposite direction.  We could hop on the interstate and exit at a major industrial park and pass just as many of those things as we used to, and it would take us 20 minutes to get to school, IF there were no accidents on the interstate.  The first week of school there were 2.  The second week 3.  The third week, well, we stopped going that way. 

Taking the back roads takes 22 minutes, EVERY day.  We don’t see a lot of other cars in our travels.  We pass zero fast food restaurants, no regular restaurants, no call centers, no drugs stores, no police stations.  We do pass a couple convenience stores and a grocery store, and lots of cows, horses, fruit stands, and wide open spaces.

Today we had to slam on the breaks for a turtle in the road.  Last week we stopped at one of the fruit stands because we were craving watermelon.  When we’ve passed the horse crossing sign, we’ve got 10 minutes to go.  We turn at the corner where there are 3 cows, one a baby.  We imagine living in the mansion we see being built out in the middle of nowhere.  We know how many speed bumps we go over before we reach school.  The drive in the morning has become pleasant instead of stressful.  We also now take the same way back home.

Sometimes it’s just really nice to take the extra couple of minutes and enjoy what the world has to offer us instead of trying to rush through it.

And that, my friends, is the real reason they have wine.  Sit back and relax.

For The Love of Baseball

A few conversations this weekend got me thinking about how we as parents influence our kids in sports.

I’m a Baseball Mom.  My 12-year old started playing when he was 6. Well, actually, he started playing when he was 3, in the backyard, when I showed him how to hit a ball with the $1 wiffle bat I bought him at Walmart and the 5 gallon Zephyrhills bottle I made into a tee, but he had a REAL coach when I signed him up for Pony Baseball League at the beginning of first grade. That first year, his dad got on to him a lot.  Yelled when he didn’t catch the ball, agonized if he didn’t run fast enough, told him how many things he did wrong sometimes until he was standing there on 1^st base crying so hard he didn’t care anymore.  The thing was, he wasn’t a bad player, he made the All Stars team that year, and a lot of his fellow teammates had been playing in the league since they were 3.  But that seems to be what a lot of Baseball Parents do.

I had a similar experience as a child.  I was a competitive gymnast.  I often won the floor and uneven bars events, though beam and vault were more of a weak point.  The fact that I was on a team at all was actually a huge accomplishment:  not a lot of people know this, even those I’ve known for years, but I have mild cerebral palsy.  I would go home from a gymnastics meet and put my leg brace on.  One of the several leg braces I wore over the years, in addition to surgery.  To this day, I am physically incapable of “pointing” my left foot properly, something you need to do in every event as a gymnast, or points are deducted from your score.  And that was what my mom focused on….

“Well, you probably didn’t get first place there because your foot wasn’t pointed on that tumbling pass.”  “Your feet just didn’t look right.”  “We need to work on that foot.”

Um, do you see all those blue ribbons on my wall in my bedroom?  That was all I could ever think.  Eventually, I just came to hate gymnastic, because I apparently just would never be good enough.

So, I quit.  And joined my high school track team.

I joined as a sprinter, which I actually did pretty good at.  I even did hurdles, though they were almost as high as my 5’0” body, the gymnastics probably helped with that.  That, and the fact that I banned my mom from attending any meets.

At practices, however, I discovered my true calling….distance running.  I ran Cross Country the next year.  And then the following season in track, I did the distance races.  I started running road races, and winning my age group.  I eventually ran Cross Country for my college, the University of South Florida, as well as continuing road races.  If I look over the top of my computer right now, I can see the shelf full of my trophies.

My mother has never seen me race.

While in the past I have actually helped coach and have been on the board for his league, and I have never in over 6 years missed a game, I am hands off when it comes to my son.  He has coaches to tell him what to do, what position to play, and how he can improve.  My son loves baseball.  I want it to stay that way.

After that first year, my son’s dad and I divorced.  I was the one who went to all the practices and games.  It was just me.  I make sure shoes are tied and socks match and that he has enough water in the dugout with him to stay hydrated.  I talk to the other mom’s during the game, often about non-baseball topics.  I have snacks in my bag in case they are needed.  I am on an infinite quest for the method to easiest clean clay and grass stains out of white baseball pants.  I say a little prayer in my head that my child will hit the ball, and I cheer when he does.  I see that awesome catch and smile.  When the ball bounces out of his glove, I pretend I missed it, because I know everyone has an off day. 

I expect him to respect his coaches.  I expect HIM to communicate to his coaches how he feels about things, and I expect him to do what they say, even if he disagrees.  I expect him to give his all and to realize it’s about the team, not him. 

I don’t expect him to be perfect.  I don’t expect him to never miss a ball.  I don’t expect him to never strike out.

I expect him to have fun, and to play the sport because he wants to. 

And he does.

He doesn’t need me to criticize him, he criticizes himself enough already.  He needs me to encourage him and remind him it was just a game, and then to pretend it didn’t happen and take him for ice cream anyways.  And I do.

He is an outstanding player.  He knows what his weaknesses are, and he works on those all by himself, without anyone telling him to.  He’s outside now with his batting stick even though this is the only night this week he does not have practice for one of the two teams he is playing with.  He didn’t need a parent with instructions and drills after every game to make that happen.  He is where he is through his own hard work determination, and that is something he can be proud of, proud of HIMSELF for.

His dad has started coming to his games again, and now he has a stepdad that attends also.  But he doesn’t have anyone criticizing him.  Just two dads who love and encourage him and let him love the sport, and let his coaches coach him.

One day, he may decide he doesn’t like baseball anymore and that’s fine, but if that happens, I don’t want that to be because a parent drove him to that point.  So far he’s not afraid to ride home in the car with anyone after a bad game, so I think we’re on the right track.

And now, I’m off to clean the kitchen and do a few more loads of laundry and do some straightening up because this is the only time this week I don’t have to be at the baseball field. 

That’s why they have wine.

 

My Child Is Not Stupid

My child is not stupid.  In fact, he is quite the opposite.  He has a larger vocabulary and has better spelling and grammar than many adults, and has since he was about 7.  He loves to learn new things, and has a special place in his brain for trivia and sports statistics.  He writes extremely creative stories, with a very intelligent sense of humor.  He can come home from a baseball game and tell you his stats off the top of his head, and after I write the equations out on a piece of paper, I can verify that he is correct.

He’s repeating 6^th grade.  He has taken the FCAT (Florida standard state test) for 4 years.  He passed the reading portion only last year, by the skin of his teeth.  He has never passed the math portion.

He is not stupid.  He has learning disabilities.

The spelling test lying on my kitchen table with the 100% on it makes me teary-eyed.  It’s not because it’s the first test he’s gotten every word right, he almost always has.  It’s because this is the first time he was not marked off for his y’s and p’s and q’s and g’s not going below the line, and his upper case letters being the same size as his lower case.  Those are symptoms that are, firstly, a documented part of his disabilities, and secondly, not indicative of his ability to SPELL.

Last year he was in remedial math.  He doesn’t get the “new” math.  And frankly, his mother who has won various math awards and got a scholarship to study Engineering at a large university (and, according to signatures in her high school yearbook, was the Algebra II teacher), doesn’t get it either.  I’ve taught him math the way I do it, in my head, and he can do the same.  Unfortunately, the lack of showing work and lack of understanding why there is a need to draw 110 blocks in rows of 10 to do a calculation when you already knew the answer 5 minutes ago doesn’t translate well on standardized tests.   This year, he started private school, which doesn’t have to “teach to the test.”  He’s been moved UP to 7^th grade math level.

He currently has a 100% average in all of his classes but one, in that one he is barely pushing a 98%, and he is disappointed by the grade!

He is not stupid.  I’ve always known that, but he just today realized that.  Really realized that. 

I have fought for him his whole school life, trying to find the best school for him, getting him private tutors, spending hours on end on homework trying to find a way he gets it.  I’ve told him how smart he is, and pointed out his abilities.  But it took me this long to realize that what he needed was a school that would teach him HIS way, who would see him for who he is and not what his standardized test scores were, who didn’t just write him off as stupid, and I feel like I failed a bit as a parent.

That’s why they have wine.  And this one is a toast to the little boy who finally realizes his potential.