Friday, February 20, 2009
Pilot, Postal, Pragmatic
My 8 year-old was asked at school what his parents do. As it was related to me, he said something close to, “Well, my dad flies an Apache in the Army. It’s an attack helicopter and is the most technologically advanced flying machine in the world. My mom delivers mail for the Post Office. And Becca, well she drives around in our van and goes through people’s trash and dumpsters and stuff. She gets out all the good stuff and sells it.” I’ve been outed as a junker.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Valentine's Day
I had the best Valentine's Day of my whole life. It didn't involve chocolate or roses or jewelry or lingerie. I had a most unconventional perfect day. A good friend of Dawn's Hannah flew in from Milwaukee ro spend a few days with us. I teased her that she just wanted to see us smootch and figured that Valentine's Day was a sure bet for that. Late in the afternoon we started making plans for the night - solidifying babysitting, checking reservation rolls around town, etc. My ex-brother-in-law Will stopped by on his way home from work to see the kids. He stuck around long enough to decide that our plans or lack thereof sounded pretty good, so he volunteered to be the DD. The 3 of us let go a "Yee -Haw!" We hastily set up dinner and a movie for the kids, gave Mimi a big kiss and piled into Will's Honda Civic.
We proceeded downtown to Atlas Oyster House. The wait was 2 hours, but they had a band and a heated tent so we settled in. Great People-Watching! The band was playing good sing-alongs, Brown-Eyed Girl and such. My favorite lady was a nearing 60, dyed brunette wearing a black cocktail dress with a red sparkly stole. She had had 2 too many champagnes and was singing and dancing her festive ass off. I hope I'm that cool when I'm that cool.
Time-Out for dynamics. Dawn and I have been together for about 3 years. I was married to Will's brother for the 5 years prior to that. He is 6 years younger than I am. Hannah and Dawn were in the Army together a decade ago and have remained close ever since. Hannah is 6 years older than Dawn and so 14 years older than Will. I hate to be an ageist or sexist, but in this case the differences made for interesting conversation, especially on the topics of love and sex.
The 4 of us recounted stories of loves lost, families broken into 1000 hilarious pieces, current relationship blunders and struggles and doomed realtionships that mercifully ended. We talked about everything from jailstays to virginal fumblings to farm-raised eel to fake boobs to the unlikely nature of our group and its' testiment to love. The food was good, the drinks plenty and the conversation surprisingly and endearingly seamless. Will did an amazing job keeping up with the female banter, and we resisted the temptation to tell him what an adorable idiot he is.
Dawn finally corraled us back into the car. Will gave us a brief tour of downtown while Hannah told us about an old near-boyfriend with a "hidden penis." (If you're prone to queasiness, don't Google Image it. Otherwise, it might be worth a look-see.) There was a lot of laughing, a little singing and more than the regular amount of "I had SUCH a good time! This was SO fun!"
Dawn and I said our good-byes and good-nights and then fell into a perfect snuggle. The last thing I heard her say was, "This was the best Valentine's Day of my whole life."
We proceeded downtown to Atlas Oyster House. The wait was 2 hours, but they had a band and a heated tent so we settled in. Great People-Watching! The band was playing good sing-alongs, Brown-Eyed Girl and such. My favorite lady was a nearing 60, dyed brunette wearing a black cocktail dress with a red sparkly stole. She had had 2 too many champagnes and was singing and dancing her festive ass off. I hope I'm that cool when I'm that cool.
Time-Out for dynamics. Dawn and I have been together for about 3 years. I was married to Will's brother for the 5 years prior to that. He is 6 years younger than I am. Hannah and Dawn were in the Army together a decade ago and have remained close ever since. Hannah is 6 years older than Dawn and so 14 years older than Will. I hate to be an ageist or sexist, but in this case the differences made for interesting conversation, especially on the topics of love and sex.
The 4 of us recounted stories of loves lost, families broken into 1000 hilarious pieces, current relationship blunders and struggles and doomed realtionships that mercifully ended. We talked about everything from jailstays to virginal fumblings to farm-raised eel to fake boobs to the unlikely nature of our group and its' testiment to love. The food was good, the drinks plenty and the conversation surprisingly and endearingly seamless. Will did an amazing job keeping up with the female banter, and we resisted the temptation to tell him what an adorable idiot he is.
Dawn finally corraled us back into the car. Will gave us a brief tour of downtown while Hannah told us about an old near-boyfriend with a "hidden penis." (If you're prone to queasiness, don't Google Image it. Otherwise, it might be worth a look-see.) There was a lot of laughing, a little singing and more than the regular amount of "I had SUCH a good time! This was SO fun!"
Dawn and I said our good-byes and good-nights and then fell into a perfect snuggle. The last thing I heard her say was, "This was the best Valentine's Day of my whole life."
Thursday, February 12, 2009
To Shave or Not to Shave
Dawn and I have an unspoken agreement not to shave our legs in the Wintertime. When asked by friends what my favorite part of my newfound lesbianism is, I very often cite this agreement. Not shaving is awesome. Shaving sucks.
Dawn just came in here and pulled up the ankle of her jeans to reveal a smooth leg. I am betrayed. As I hastily pushed my own jeans down to cover my Yeti-ness, I asked her why, WHY! had she shaved her legs. She said she had to, that her leg hair was like roots growing into the floor and holding her down.
I love her.
Dawn just came in here and pulled up the ankle of her jeans to reveal a smooth leg. I am betrayed. As I hastily pushed my own jeans down to cover my Yeti-ness, I asked her why, WHY! had she shaved her legs. She said she had to, that her leg hair was like roots growing into the floor and holding her down.
I love her.
Play-Doh
My 4 year-old recently had a birthday. A friend called me from the ToysRUs to get approval for what her kids had picked out for him. (What a good friend, right?) I quickly exnayed their selection and suggested some Play-Doh. It’s cheap and readily available and he LOVES it. Dawn made a terrible kidney-stone flair up kind of groan when she overheard me. She admitted an intense hatred of Play-Doh and its stickiness and messiness and all-around pointlessness. I was shocked, but dismissed her as a oddity. Then I saw Kate of Jon and Kate Plus 8 hatin’ on Play-Doh, and I got to wondering if I was the oddity. So now I am conducting an informal survey. A simple question - Play-Doh? Fabulous activity with endless creative opportunity OR Bane of every self-respecting Mother in America?
Here’s my only beef with Play-Doh. The containers aren’t recyclable. Boo-Hiss! My plan is to take a picture of my kids playing with the God-sent goo and then send the picture and a nice letter to Mr. Play-Doh thanking him for his long and continuing legacy. I will go on to suggest (beg) that his company rethink its packaging to include only recyclable containers. Who will join me?
I just took a short break to look on the Hasbro website for an address to include here so that all of you who exuberantly exclaimed, “I will!” would have the necessary information. Would you believe that they don’t have an address posted? Only e-mail to a customer service rep and a hotline. (I can’t say or hear the word hotline without thinking about President Bartlet calling the Butterball hotline at Thanksgiving. Hilarious!) Dawn points out that I can’t be disappointed about the end of the dream of my letter-writing campaign considering that the campaign is about conservation and e-mailing conserves paper. So, Fine. For just a second, I hate it when she’s so sensible.
I just took another break to send my email. This is what I wrote.
Dear Mr. Play-Doh (as you are affectionately called by my children),
Please reconsider the packaging of Play-Doh. The small plastic containers are not recyclable. My kids are very disappointed about this. They even suggested that we make our own Play-Doh at home instead of buying more evil little containers. Please save me from that. Thank you -
When I clicked on “submit email” I was lead through prompts to supply my vital info. Begrudgingly, I did. Then I took a little survey. Then I gave a DNA sample (surprisingly painless). Then I was promised that there was only one more page to go until my email would actually be submitted. Then I was shown a suggested FAQ that may answer my email. This is what it said.
Play-Doh is loved by consumers around the world and all the manufacturing comes from the same place. Recycling requirements vary by country and it would be next to impossible to control the markings without confusing consumers.
Play-Doh cans use 3 different kinds of resin. The can itself is PP (Polypropylene), or number 5, and the lids are EITHER a blend of LDPE (Low density Polyethylene), which is #4, and HDPE (High Density Polyethylene), which is #2, OR just HDPE (2).
We suggest you check with your municipality to see if the cans should be recycled in your area.
Awesome.
Here’s my only beef with Play-Doh. The containers aren’t recyclable. Boo-Hiss! My plan is to take a picture of my kids playing with the God-sent goo and then send the picture and a nice letter to Mr. Play-Doh thanking him for his long and continuing legacy. I will go on to suggest (beg) that his company rethink its packaging to include only recyclable containers. Who will join me?
I just took a short break to look on the Hasbro website for an address to include here so that all of you who exuberantly exclaimed, “I will!” would have the necessary information. Would you believe that they don’t have an address posted? Only e-mail to a customer service rep and a hotline. (I can’t say or hear the word hotline without thinking about President Bartlet calling the Butterball hotline at Thanksgiving. Hilarious!) Dawn points out that I can’t be disappointed about the end of the dream of my letter-writing campaign considering that the campaign is about conservation and e-mailing conserves paper. So, Fine. For just a second, I hate it when she’s so sensible.
I just took another break to send my email. This is what I wrote.
Dear Mr. Play-Doh (as you are affectionately called by my children),
Please reconsider the packaging of Play-Doh. The small plastic containers are not recyclable. My kids are very disappointed about this. They even suggested that we make our own Play-Doh at home instead of buying more evil little containers. Please save me from that. Thank you -
When I clicked on “submit email” I was lead through prompts to supply my vital info. Begrudgingly, I did. Then I took a little survey. Then I gave a DNA sample (surprisingly painless). Then I was promised that there was only one more page to go until my email would actually be submitted. Then I was shown a suggested FAQ that may answer my email. This is what it said.
Play-Doh is loved by consumers around the world and all the manufacturing comes from the same place. Recycling requirements vary by country and it would be next to impossible to control the markings without confusing consumers.
Play-Doh cans use 3 different kinds of resin. The can itself is PP (Polypropylene), or number 5, and the lids are EITHER a blend of LDPE (Low density Polyethylene), which is #4, and HDPE (High Density Polyethylene), which is #2, OR just HDPE (2).
We suggest you check with your municipality to see if the cans should be recycled in your area.
Awesome.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Amazing Faith
My five-year old Faith is the best sick kid in the world. She insists on helping clean up any “grossness,” never cries or whines and is a champ about taking medicine. So if someone had asked me which kid I wanted to get sick on the way home from a 1000 mile trip to help my partner’s ex-husband’s family move (I’m not even kidding. It’s a blog for another day.), I would have said, “Faith” without skipping a beat. But no one asked me that. If someone had I would have been better prepared and I wouldn’t have promised the crew a stop at the Georgia Aquarium.
When Faith screamed from the back seat of the van that she had to throw up, our family jumped into action. Dawn got us to the shoulder of the road and jumped out while Storm unbuckled Faith while William cleared a path for her to walk through while Ray picked up his feet so she could get past. I opened the door for her and found the paper towels. She puked up dinner and breakfast. Her twin, William hung out the door and cheered her on, “You’re doing great Faithy. Good girl. You’re OK, Faith. I’m right here.” The boys switched seats so she could sit by the door. She very matter-of-factly told us when she was done, wiped her mouth and asked if we were still going to the aquarium.
Back on the road with less than 50 miles to Atlanta, Faith threw up again, this time in a Tupperware. I turned around in my seat, held the bowl for her and wiped her face. This time she smiled, assured us that was the end of it and reminded us that she was totally fine to go to the aquarium. The moment of truth came and Dawn took the Aquarium exit. I dumped out a bag and repacked it with paper towels, extra clothes and a contraband sippy cup of Gatorade. While everyone found their shoes, Dawn and I worked out a game plan.
As soon as we got there, Dawn took the boys to the nearest round of exhibits, and Faith and I scoped out a snuggly place in front of the massive glass wall housing the whale sharks. I could write and cry and sing about the whale sharks for days, but this story is about Faith. She dry-heaved in paper towels while I rubbed her hair and counted out the names of the fish that I knew and made up funny ones for the ones I didn’t. The rays cooperated by flying in unison in time to the music. Dawn and the boys looped through, gave us the stroller and pointed us to the next still and quiet place. We moved to the Coral Reef exhibit and watched Nemo and Dorie play in the surf. Dawn looped back through, told us the next spot and so on.
We were parked in front of the Belugas when Faith, my hero said, “I want to be all done now.” She made it just over an hour and through 4 throw-ups. Storm, William and Ray easily rounded up and did a world-record spree through the gift shop. On the hike back to the van, Dawn said, “I had a great time. Is that weird?” I looked at Storm and William holding hands, Ray perched on Dawn’s shoulders and playing with her hair and then Faith sleepily rubbing the Mommy and Baby Beluga Whales that she had rightfully earned and said, “No, it’s just right.”
So score one for the family with 2 Mommies who orchestrated the quickest tour on record through the biggest aquarium in the world, 1 very brave little girl who now feels much better and 3 boys who loved their sister enough to skip the touch pool.
When Faith screamed from the back seat of the van that she had to throw up, our family jumped into action. Dawn got us to the shoulder of the road and jumped out while Storm unbuckled Faith while William cleared a path for her to walk through while Ray picked up his feet so she could get past. I opened the door for her and found the paper towels. She puked up dinner and breakfast. Her twin, William hung out the door and cheered her on, “You’re doing great Faithy. Good girl. You’re OK, Faith. I’m right here.” The boys switched seats so she could sit by the door. She very matter-of-factly told us when she was done, wiped her mouth and asked if we were still going to the aquarium.
Back on the road with less than 50 miles to Atlanta, Faith threw up again, this time in a Tupperware. I turned around in my seat, held the bowl for her and wiped her face. This time she smiled, assured us that was the end of it and reminded us that she was totally fine to go to the aquarium. The moment of truth came and Dawn took the Aquarium exit. I dumped out a bag and repacked it with paper towels, extra clothes and a contraband sippy cup of Gatorade. While everyone found their shoes, Dawn and I worked out a game plan.
As soon as we got there, Dawn took the boys to the nearest round of exhibits, and Faith and I scoped out a snuggly place in front of the massive glass wall housing the whale sharks. I could write and cry and sing about the whale sharks for days, but this story is about Faith. She dry-heaved in paper towels while I rubbed her hair and counted out the names of the fish that I knew and made up funny ones for the ones I didn’t. The rays cooperated by flying in unison in time to the music. Dawn and the boys looped through, gave us the stroller and pointed us to the next still and quiet place. We moved to the Coral Reef exhibit and watched Nemo and Dorie play in the surf. Dawn looped back through, told us the next spot and so on.
We were parked in front of the Belugas when Faith, my hero said, “I want to be all done now.” She made it just over an hour and through 4 throw-ups. Storm, William and Ray easily rounded up and did a world-record spree through the gift shop. On the hike back to the van, Dawn said, “I had a great time. Is that weird?” I looked at Storm and William holding hands, Ray perched on Dawn’s shoulders and playing with her hair and then Faith sleepily rubbing the Mommy and Baby Beluga Whales that she had rightfully earned and said, “No, it’s just right.”
So score one for the family with 2 Mommies who orchestrated the quickest tour on record through the biggest aquarium in the world, 1 very brave little girl who now feels much better and 3 boys who loved their sister enough to skip the touch pool.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Facebook's Epidemic: The 25 Interesting Things List
I finally joined the masses on Facebook. I know, it's been a big week for me. Within 15 minutes of being officially registered, I was "poked," "tagged," and in other sexual sounding words prompted to make the 25 Interesting Things About Myself list. I will admit that it took me a LONG time. By #13, I was pretty well out of ideas. I could think of loads of interesting things about other people that I tried to claim. For example, "#14. Dawn speaks fluent Portuguese and passable Spanish." No, delete. That's not about me. "#14. My mom had 2 sets of wisdom teeth." Not only is that not about me, but I already had a dental entry and thought better of making this about my mouth. I battled through it. I'll admit that by the time I got to #24, I could taste the end of the project and hastily added #25 as my abhorrence of raisins. I don't think that is very interesting. Later I thought that I should have said that I drool in my sleep. A lot. And it smells exactly like my 2 year-old's drool. But here is the list in near-original form.
1. My favorite song is "Me and Bobby McGee." I prefer Willie Nelson's rendition to Janis Joplin's. I'm also up for a Willie Nelson fan club meeting anytime anyone wants to sit around and sing off key with me.
2. I have a tattoo of the rising sun on my back. I got it 7 years before I met Dawn.
3. I dabble in writing poetry and children's stories.
4. I tended bar for a LONG time. I was pretty great at it.
5. Between me and Dawn we've been to every continent except Africa and Antarctica; and Dawn hasn't given up hope. I'm sure we'll get to Africa, but Antarctica seems a long shot to me.
6. We make Windchimes and Suncatchers but only randomly keep up the website. You may be able to see some on chiminglively.etsy.com. We'll be doing the local festivals this spring.
7. I had a fall down a flight of stairs when I was in high school. I tore all of the muscles in my back. I'm pretty much a mess now. So don't call me when you need help moving.
8. My great-grandmother was a Choctaw. I look it, right? The only people that ever guess are dentists, because I have an extra cusp on my back teeth. It's a Native American trait.
9. I'm a vegetarian. I've flirted with vegetarianism for years and finally took the plunge after I saw a documentary on illegal fishing practices. The slaughter of sharks, turtles and whales is abominable.
10. I'm as much an expert on sharks as one who doesn't have a degree in Marine Biology can be.
11. I got sent home from work the day that Johnny Cash died because I cussed out my assistant for going on and on about John Ritter who died the same day.
12. I love junking - garage sales, flea markets, thrift stores, rich people's garbage. If
you live in East Hill, you may have seen me rummaging. Your neighborhood has GREAT trash!
13. I'm NOT superstitious, at all.
14. I've gotten exponentially more liberal. In 2000, I voted for Bush. In 2004, for Kerry. In 2008, for Edwards and even he was a little too right for me.
15. I'm 3 years into a complete boycott of Wal-Mart.
16. I don't eat at Chik-Fil-A because their Kids Meals are sponsored by Focus on the Family. Ironically, I think that the Rev. Lou Dobson may be the Anti-Christ.
17. Only 2 times in about 4 years have I worn a pair of shoes that wasn't Crocs - my sons' Christenings.
18. I'm an eBay addict.
19. I have a signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, my favorite book.
20. I'm pretty sure I still know all the words to the movies Grease and Father of the Bride.
21. I didn't learn to ride a bike until 2 weeks before my 30th birthday.
22. My first car was a Full-Size Ford Bronco. It saved my life twice. At the time, it cost $40 to fill it up with Premium. When I had to sell it, I sat in the driveway with my head in my hands and sobbed as the new owner drove away.
23. To say that Yellow is my favorite color is an understatement. I am passionate about Yellow. It's not just that I prefer it, it's that I'm sure it's actually superior to other colors.
24. I finally quit smoking. It wasn't the pictures of crispy lungs or the pleadings of Dawn that got me. It was a report on NPR about the poison from cigarette butts getting into the ground water.
25. Other than the afore-mentioned dietary restrictions, I'll eat anything except raisins. I am vehemently opposed to raisins.
1. My favorite song is "Me and Bobby McGee." I prefer Willie Nelson's rendition to Janis Joplin's. I'm also up for a Willie Nelson fan club meeting anytime anyone wants to sit around and sing off key with me.
2. I have a tattoo of the rising sun on my back. I got it 7 years before I met Dawn.
3. I dabble in writing poetry and children's stories.
4. I tended bar for a LONG time. I was pretty great at it.
5. Between me and Dawn we've been to every continent except Africa and Antarctica; and Dawn hasn't given up hope. I'm sure we'll get to Africa, but Antarctica seems a long shot to me.
6. We make Windchimes and Suncatchers but only randomly keep up the website. You may be able to see some on chiminglively.etsy.com. We'll be doing the local festivals this spring.
7. I had a fall down a flight of stairs when I was in high school. I tore all of the muscles in my back. I'm pretty much a mess now. So don't call me when you need help moving.
8. My great-grandmother was a Choctaw. I look it, right? The only people that ever guess are dentists, because I have an extra cusp on my back teeth. It's a Native American trait.
9. I'm a vegetarian. I've flirted with vegetarianism for years and finally took the plunge after I saw a documentary on illegal fishing practices. The slaughter of sharks, turtles and whales is abominable.
10. I'm as much an expert on sharks as one who doesn't have a degree in Marine Biology can be.
11. I got sent home from work the day that Johnny Cash died because I cussed out my assistant for going on and on about John Ritter who died the same day.
12. I love junking - garage sales, flea markets, thrift stores, rich people's garbage. If
you live in East Hill, you may have seen me rummaging. Your neighborhood has GREAT trash!
13. I'm NOT superstitious, at all.
14. I've gotten exponentially more liberal. In 2000, I voted for Bush. In 2004, for Kerry. In 2008, for Edwards and even he was a little too right for me.
15. I'm 3 years into a complete boycott of Wal-Mart.
16. I don't eat at Chik-Fil-A because their Kids Meals are sponsored by Focus on the Family. Ironically, I think that the Rev. Lou Dobson may be the Anti-Christ.
17. Only 2 times in about 4 years have I worn a pair of shoes that wasn't Crocs - my sons' Christenings.
18. I'm an eBay addict.
19. I have a signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, my favorite book.
20. I'm pretty sure I still know all the words to the movies Grease and Father of the Bride.
21. I didn't learn to ride a bike until 2 weeks before my 30th birthday.
22. My first car was a Full-Size Ford Bronco. It saved my life twice. At the time, it cost $40 to fill it up with Premium. When I had to sell it, I sat in the driveway with my head in my hands and sobbed as the new owner drove away.
23. To say that Yellow is my favorite color is an understatement. I am passionate about Yellow. It's not just that I prefer it, it's that I'm sure it's actually superior to other colors.
24. I finally quit smoking. It wasn't the pictures of crispy lungs or the pleadings of Dawn that got me. It was a report on NPR about the poison from cigarette butts getting into the ground water.
25. Other than the afore-mentioned dietary restrictions, I'll eat anything except raisins. I am vehemently opposed to raisins.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Baseball Try-Outs, Bleh!
Our oldest son, Storm is beginning the Spring Little League Season soon. Today he had to go and be assessed (inspected like cattle) by the coaching staff. He was a little nervous, so we loaded the whole fam up in the Old Slow Coach (our Town & Country van) so that we would all be there for ego-boosting. After making the final decision which seemed to take on the import of Sophie's Choice, about which glove to use, we all trekked up to the field and watched as a very bubbly wife taped a number to his back. He and Dawn played catch while I sat with the twins who had packed their essentials and were happily coloring together. I checked out the competition.
8 is such a strange age. There were really little, scrawny kids and too-tall-makes-you-think-someone-should-check-their-birth-certificates-and-who-the-hell-cares-about-Little-League-enough-to-cheat-anyway kids, kids with obnoxious yelling parents, kids who knew they were the strongest and fastest and probably needed a good kick in the pants, and a few who seemed genuinely thrilled with the fact that they had on their favorite hat and their favorite glove and were playing their favorite game. Their parents were strangely quiet.
The largest coach called the boys over and lined them up. On the first base line, the boys were led in some stretching and basic drills. All went well. That seems like a given, I'm sure. It's not. Storm is the kid that got hurt at school during a session of Brain Yoga. It's not that he's uncoordinated. He's just easily distracted and maybe a little clumsy.
The boys were herded to the third base line and readied for pop-flys. All of the parents had, of course, also shifted to the third base side of the field. They couldn't miss a second. Their genetics were being weighed and judged and bid on. A slightly less-large coach saw this audience form and puffed up his chest. "OK, Coaches. Listen up! First up, first up is Will The Drill Campbeeeeeeeell!" The parents gave a polite if not nervous laugh. Bless his heart. The Drill stood no more than 3 ft. 8in. and couldn't have weighed more than 45 lbs. soaking wet. Newly monikered, he trudged out of line and teetered under a modest pop-fly until it blessedly came to rest just in front of him. Storm, eyes wide, turned to us. We calmly waved and smiled (and I'm sure Dawn didn't resist giving a thumbs-up) while the twins exuberantly cheered him on as if he was on deck in the World Series.
With a name like Storm, you don't really need a nickname. Slightly Less-Large upon seeing Storm's name on the page in front of him, hesitated just a moment before reading out "Jacksoooooon Storm!" He, like many others before him had refused to believe that the child's name is Storm Jackson as opposed to the much trendier, Jackson Storm. For his part and quite used to the mistake and probably relieved to have been saved "Hurricane The Storm Jacksoooooooooooon!" Storm jogged onto the field and made 3 slightly shaky catches and 3 timid but accurate throws to 2nd. The twins took a break from rolling down a dirt pile to go wild.
After finishing sprints and grounders with no missteps, he proceeded to the dugout. Poor Storm. He's been blessed and cursed with disorganized mothers. Today, he was annoyed by this. We had not brought his very own bat. He would be forced to borrow someone else's which is apparently, totally humiliating. When he came up, we held our breath and let go a little prayer. No line drives, no home-runs and no strikes. Thank you, Johnny Cash. (Doesn't he seem a good spirit to channel when you need a little boost towards something too trivial to bother the Kennedys with?)
He was done. It was over. He had declared himself happily average; and we couldn't be more pleased. He was beaming when he rushed us. "I can't believe I hit every ball!" Dawn pushed him to the grass, tickled him and mussed his hair. I think I'm the only one who saw her wipe away a tear.
8 is such a strange age. There were really little, scrawny kids and too-tall-makes-you-think-someone-should-check-their-birth-certificates-and-who-the-hell-cares-about-Little-League-enough-to-cheat-anyway kids, kids with obnoxious yelling parents, kids who knew they were the strongest and fastest and probably needed a good kick in the pants, and a few who seemed genuinely thrilled with the fact that they had on their favorite hat and their favorite glove and were playing their favorite game. Their parents were strangely quiet.
The largest coach called the boys over and lined them up. On the first base line, the boys were led in some stretching and basic drills. All went well. That seems like a given, I'm sure. It's not. Storm is the kid that got hurt at school during a session of Brain Yoga. It's not that he's uncoordinated. He's just easily distracted and maybe a little clumsy.
The boys were herded to the third base line and readied for pop-flys. All of the parents had, of course, also shifted to the third base side of the field. They couldn't miss a second. Their genetics were being weighed and judged and bid on. A slightly less-large coach saw this audience form and puffed up his chest. "OK, Coaches. Listen up! First up, first up is Will The Drill Campbeeeeeeeell!" The parents gave a polite if not nervous laugh. Bless his heart. The Drill stood no more than 3 ft. 8in. and couldn't have weighed more than 45 lbs. soaking wet. Newly monikered, he trudged out of line and teetered under a modest pop-fly until it blessedly came to rest just in front of him. Storm, eyes wide, turned to us. We calmly waved and smiled (and I'm sure Dawn didn't resist giving a thumbs-up) while the twins exuberantly cheered him on as if he was on deck in the World Series.
With a name like Storm, you don't really need a nickname. Slightly Less-Large upon seeing Storm's name on the page in front of him, hesitated just a moment before reading out "Jacksoooooon Storm!" He, like many others before him had refused to believe that the child's name is Storm Jackson as opposed to the much trendier, Jackson Storm. For his part and quite used to the mistake and probably relieved to have been saved "Hurricane The Storm Jacksoooooooooooon!" Storm jogged onto the field and made 3 slightly shaky catches and 3 timid but accurate throws to 2nd. The twins took a break from rolling down a dirt pile to go wild.
After finishing sprints and grounders with no missteps, he proceeded to the dugout. Poor Storm. He's been blessed and cursed with disorganized mothers. Today, he was annoyed by this. We had not brought his very own bat. He would be forced to borrow someone else's which is apparently, totally humiliating. When he came up, we held our breath and let go a little prayer. No line drives, no home-runs and no strikes. Thank you, Johnny Cash. (Doesn't he seem a good spirit to channel when you need a little boost towards something too trivial to bother the Kennedys with?)
He was done. It was over. He had declared himself happily average; and we couldn't be more pleased. He was beaming when he rushed us. "I can't believe I hit every ball!" Dawn pushed him to the grass, tickled him and mussed his hair. I think I'm the only one who saw her wipe away a tear.
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