I spent some time on the sidelines. I was too close to the game, and couldn’t see the action well. I moved to the stands. I can see the game better, and it’s a lot more comfy here, too. It’s best that I’m further from the action. They can’t hear me when I fail at keeping my mouth shut. I’m sitting on one of those cushions with the attached back. There’s no one sitting in front of me, so my feet are up. I’ve got popcorn and an icy cold beer.
My kids are suiting up for another run at this ‘game’ at grandma’s. Last night, Jenny slept with me again. She’s dreading today and couldn’t get to sleep because she can’t quit thinking about how her dad just doesn’t see her. This morning, Will said, “I am done with these visits. I just feel beat down.”
I’m picturing my kids suited up for a football game. We’ve only recently gotten into watching football. There hasn’t been a dad around to spend Sundays watching the games, so we don’t really know how the game is played. Will certainly knows more than Jen and I do. But he still doesn’t understand penalties and downs and all that stuff. They are begrudgingly putting on their shoulder pads and helmets. After a few encouraging shouts from the stands, they will drag their butts up the hill to grandma’s house.
I tried the coaching bit for eleven years. Perhaps I’d have done a better job if I’d known more how the game was played. It seems the other team (Mark) keeps changing the rules. Each time my kids were tackled, I’d rush out to the field, help them up and encourage them to get back in the game. It took me quite awhile before I realized that Mark kept changing the rules. I was encouraging the kids to play fair. After each tackle, it became harder and harder to talk them into going back in for what they knew would be another hit. I hoped they’d be able to play better as they got older. At this point, they pretty much hate the game altogether. They don’t even want to be near the stadium, let alone on the field.
Now, with my mom as coach, it’ll be interesting to see how the rest of the game plays. Initially, Jen and Will were cautiously optimistic. This new coach did a better job of getting them psyched before the game. She was a lot more enthusiastic about the potential outcome. She really believed we could win this thing, and her spunk was contagious. The three of us were ready for a new coach because we were sick and tired and bruised from losing every stinkin’ game. Continue reading →
This photo reminds me of all the fun that was had around our house this week. Those drops of water are getting ready to slide down the tulip leaf. You can almost hear the drops saying, “Wheeeee!”
I do follow the rules in unfamiliar situations. I read the signs, ask for directions, follow the guidelines and survey the expert opinions. But once I’m in my comfort zone, I start to look at things differently. I start to ask, “Why?” I’m not trying to be belligerent. I’m trying to understand if the reason something “has always been done that way” is really the right reason for doing it that way.
I did it. Saturday night I 
Yesterday’s post was about beauty and insecurity and denying who I am. It was a difficult post to write. I’m not even sure where it came from. Getting that necklace in the mail was akin to jamming a stick of dynamite in a dam that I didn’t even know existed. Feelings, emotions and tears started flowing, and they weren’t going to stop. Apparently, they haven’t stopped yet. I’m not done with the topic, and I’m convinced that this flood is sending me further down the path that I’m supposed to be on. The tidal wave of emotions is pushing me faster, and I’m not afraid. In fact, I can’t wait to see how far it takes me. This is another exercise in authenticity and speaking truth. Both of those expressions are over-used. But if we set out in search of those things, with integrity, the pursuit of authenticity and truth gets us closer to who we are meant to be.
“Will the rest of your party be joining you?” “It’s too bad your dad couldn’t come with on your vacation.” “Father couldn’t join the family on the cruise?” “Shall I wait until the rest of the family gets here?” To the last comment, I politely smiled and said, “This is the entire family.” I started to wonder if the cruise ship passed through some sort of Mexican Riviera version of the Bermuda Triangle and dropped us right in the middle of 1950.
When I tuck Will in at night, he wants to know how many pages he should read before he turns out the light. He wants to know the plan for the next day. He wants to know if he will be allowed a cup of coffee. He wants to know what we’ll be doing for learning work, if he’ll have time to golf, and what we’ll be having for dinner. (I should clarify that he doesn’t need any kind of approval from me on all these things – pages read, golf time. But some things like coffee and dinner and learning work, he does need to hear from me.) When I tuck Jenny in, she is busily putting jammies on her Barbies and barely makes eye contact long enough to say goodnight.
We are home with new freckles on our noses, brown shoulders, sand in our backpacks, some handmade Mexican necklaces that we’ll probably never wear, a new t-shirt for Will, three new stuffed animal buddies for Jen, some nice pictures and a much-needed attitude adjustment. I saw plenty of people squeezing ginormous sombreros into the overhead compartment on the plane. Instead, I came home with a stack of plates on my head.
